Z - Lost and Longing
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: [DISCONTINUED]. After Loki tries to escape Asgard, Odin punishes him with the exact thing he wanted: freedom. But Odin takes Loki's magic and casts him out of Asgard and traps him on Earth, filled with the creatures he despised so much: Humans. [REWRITTEN AS 'WHAT REMAINS OF THE LIGHT']
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys, new story! I always wanted to write a Loki/OC (because who doesn't) and I've finally developed a plot I like. The romance won't be the main focus, I kind of want it to be a slow-burn type of thing, since Loki hates humans so much, so there's that. This will be post-avengers pre-Dark World, so pretty much an AU. I might set it to be pre-Avengers eventually, but I haven't decided yet. But its definitely going to be AU.  
**

 **It might not get updated a lot, since I have so many other projects, but if this gets enough likes/reviews, I'll probably update faster :)**

 **Anyways, tell me what you think!**

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Chapter One

A flash of light and a gust of wind. Paper and detritus flew through the dark alley, kicking up dust and startling a sleeping vagrant. The man grunted, scrabbling for his cardboard blanket but failing as it slipped through his fingers.

He turned his head in the direction of the light, which had now flickered out, to shout complaints at the one who disturbed him. It was difficult to see in the dark, even more so when he had lost his prescription glasses, but he could still identify the form of a man, tall and almost gangly in appearance. The newcomer stumbled from the spot he had suddenly appeared - there were no back doors here, so the vagrant wondered where exactly this man had come from. It was almost as if he fell from the sky.

The man picked himself up from the ground, knees shaking and hands slipping on the wet brick wall. It had rained recently, the vagrant having taken cover beneath the safety of a three-legged table thrown out into the trash. The storm was already a mile away, its thunder a distant rumble. The vagrant had been terrified, wishing he could find better cover — he had never seen green lightning before.

Although the freak storm was gone, there was now something almost equally as freaky in this alley. The man managed to stand upright, still trembling but looking intimidating with his height, especially viewed from the ground.

"Hey!" The vagrant shouted, raising a fist in the air. "Some of us are trying to sleep over here!"

The man's face, hidden in shadow, jerked towards the vagrant's direction, like a viper finding its prey. The vagrant flinched, suddenly wondering if he had yelled at the wrong man. Wouldn't be the first time.

But then the man lifted his chin, as if deciding the vagrant was not worth his attention. The man took a step forward, then another, heading towards the street behind the building walls. As he got closer, the vagrant could see that what he thought was a long trench coat was in fact a billowing cape, and the distant streetlights glittered off the metal pieces of the man's suit. It wasn't enough to tell what exactly he was wearing, but the vagrant had the distinct impression that this wasn't just some drunk businessman lost after a wild night of partying.

That didn't mean he couldn't try mugging him, though.

The vagrant was not a man known for his common sense. His previous trepidation was gone in a flash at the possibility that this rich-looking lightweight might have some cash or a credit card on him.

As the man passed, entirely silent and swaying slightly, as if walking in a daze, the vagrant reached up and tugged against his fancy-shmancy cape. "Hey. Hey, you. Got any loose change you could spare?"

But the man just kept on walking. The vagrant scowled, reached for the pocket knife stashed in his boot. Of course it was the arrogant fat cats that always ignored him, treated him like dirt on their heels. Well, he'll show them...

With a speed that belied his haggard and grimy appearance, the vagrant shot to his feet and swung the dagger at the man's head. "What? You think you're better than me? Why don't you give me your wallet before I — _ack_!"

If the vagrant was fast, this man was faster, because the vagrant didn't even see the hand that flew around to latch itself under his jaw. The vagrant choked as long, lithe fingers clenched and he was rendered utterly helpless as the ground left his feet, knife clattering on the gravel. Without even a grunt of effort, the man slammed the vagrant into the nearby wall, knocking the breath out of the assailant. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but the vagrant swore he saw the man's eyes flash green for a brief second.

"You dare threaten a Prince of Asgard?" The man snarled, his accent catching on the words, making them sound both beautiful and terrifying at once. "With a _butter knife_?"

The vagrant kicked his legs uselessly, horrified at his mistake and yet in awe of this man's strength. The man was skinnier than the vagrant, but he was three times as strong, and not nearly as reckless with his words.

"A-Asgard?" The vagrant managed to stumble over the unfamiliar word, through the thinning of oxygen in his chest. Despite the man's unprecedented strength, the jury was still out on whether he was drunk or not. He had never heard of Asgard, or any monarchy related to it. The vagrant was starting to think this man might be on drugs, instead, caught in delusions of grandeur. "The f-fu... _urgh_!"

The man's grip tightened around his throat. He was only using one arm. "Did I bid you to speak, mortal?"

The vagrant, for once, kept his mouth shut, apparently realizing the wisdom in heeding caution. He quickly shook his head, in case the man, this self-proclaimed Prince, didn't get the message of defeat.

"Good." There was a hint of a smile in the man's voice, and suddenly the hand was gone. The vagrant fell on his rear, choking and spluttering as the air returned to his lungs. The man still stood above him, looking down with what must have been a sneer, because he sounded rather disgusted when he said, "Now, pray tell, in which godforsaken realm has my father has banished me to?"

"Realm?" Well, if there was one thing this guy got right, it was the fact that this place was, indeed, quite forsaken. "You're in Lost and Longing, pal, the town with no stars, and the last place a guy like you wants to be."

"Lost and Longing," the man repeated, sounding more amused than frightened. He should have known better. "How quaint."

And with that, he turned away from the vagrant and walked out into the street. The nearest streetlight revealed that the man really was wearing a cape, as well as the strangest clothes the vagrant had ever seen. Things that didn't belong in Lost and Longing or anywhere else on Earth, really.

But perhaps the most interesting thing was the man's face, battered and bloody, like he had just been in a fight. There was a slash above his eye and a cut through his lip, nose bleeding slightly. His black hair, reaching his shoulders, was an utter mess. The man looked either way down the street, as if trying to decide where he should head off to next.

A little miffed to be forgotten so quickly, the vagrant cupped a hand around his mouth and called, "Why don't you cut your hair? You look like a hippie!"

The man threw a venomous look at the vagrant, and his hand snapped out again, town fingers pointed at him as if the man had just thrown something. The vagrant flinched, but felt nothing, and opened his eyes to see the man grimace, as if frustrated with himself, throwing his arm and down stalking off, leaving the vagrant behind, mildly stunned.

"Yeah, that's what I thought!" The vagrant called out again, determined to have the last word. When the man disappeared from sight, the vagrant finally stood up again, retrieved his knife, and returned to his sleeping post under the three-legged table.

But before he could lie down again, the vagrant noticed something. In the ground, some twenty feet away, were strange markings in the dirt. It had been the same spot the man had appeared in that bizarre column of light. The vagrant got up again, getting closer to inspect.

He stared, unable to believe his eyes. In the dirt were not markings, no, but a large round symbol, _engraved_ in the turf. A beautiful, complex design of knotwork and ancient symbols and magic that the vagrant had no concept of understanding.

What was this? The vagrant looked up into the still-roiling sky, flashes of lightning flickering deep within the mighty black clouds. Is this where that man had come from? Why did he talk like a freak? How was he so strong?

 _What the hell was going on?_


	2. Chapter 2

**I decided to update two chapters at once. I don't know, I don't think the first chapter gave enough of a taste of what this story was about. It's time for Loki!**

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Chapter Two

The God of Mischief cursed under his breath. Of course it would be _this one_ , of all realms, for Odin to send him to.

But this was what he so desired, after all. He wanted freedom, and now he had it.

Loki knew his father to be clever — he wasn't the Allfather for nothing — but _spiteful_ was hardly a word Loki would use to describe him. That description belonged to someone more like himself, who didn't have to follow any higher calling.

When Loki escaped his prison beneath Valhalla, he thought he had it. He thought he was free, free from his father, his brother, and those blasted buffoons who called themselves warriors. Free from responsibility. He thought his magic would be enough to protect him, Jötun spells that could evade even the piercing golden gaze of Heimdall.

His legs were killing him. As were his arms, his chest, his head; even his _ears_ twinged with pain. Unbelievable. The fall from Asgard had not been kind. Foul mortal bodies, is this what it felt like to live in as a pathetic human?

But Loki didn't expect to be caught. He had no idea how much better Heimdall had become at seeing through an Invisibility spell, the same kind that allowed Loki to sneak in a couple of Jötun giants to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters on the rouse that he was on their side, that he wanted to give the Jötuns back their precious relic.

Loki should have known better. He should've been wary how easily the first guard had been to dispatch, why no sirens sounded even though his breakout had been less-than-subtle. The shield enchantment trapping him in his cell, yet allowing any other to enter and leave at will, had made a tremendous bang when Loki finally dispelled it. Why no one came running even though he had whole minutes to himself. Loki should have known that his luck was never this good.

Of course Heimdall saw it coming. Perhaps he knew what Loki was planning beforehand, and had Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, along with Thor and a few extra guards all waiting for him at the top of the stairs, brandishing weapons fresh off the whetting stone.

Loki's urge to fight had been so strong that it actually hurt him to resist. Oh, how he wanted to curse them away, render them into ice and cleave them in two with their own weapons. To let the blue of his skin, the true abomination that he was, to show as he unleashed all his magic, a gift that none of the others had, that only he could wield. They would have been defenseless.

He could have created duplicates of himself and escaped while the others tried to figure out which one was him. He could have created a wall of ice or fire or rock between them and seek escape another way. He could have slashed a tremendous, awful scar in Thor's face, to ruin the handsome beauty that so many others fell in love with. Oh, Thor, Thor, the mighty and wonderful Thor. The perfect son, the Crown Prince, the Chosen One, the Beloved Thor, who could wield Mjolnir, who could do no wrong and would never sully his own reputation with the company of a Jötun bastard he once called his brother.

Loki sneered, wiping the blood off his face as he descended further into this strange mortal town. Asgard would rue the day it ever let a Frost Giant within its walls.

Storm clouds raged overhead, the aftermath of the Bïfrost's effects. Loki scowled up at the clouds, wondering if it would rain, just to spite him. Knowing he was being watched, Loki called up, "Are you happy now, father? Does my weakness please you? How long shall I remain on this wretched plane before my soul has been cleansed? Is such a thing even possible for a monster?"

The only response he got was, " _Shut the hell up, man_!" From somewhere down the street. " _It's two o'clock in the morning_!"

Loki sighed, his arms dropping to his sides. Only a few minutes on Midgard, and he was already sounding like a basket case. If he was going to get out of here, he would have to try to fit in better. Of course, that would be a lot easier if he had magic on his side.

Which he did not.

And that meant he had to actually _talk_ to humans if he wanted anything from them. Ugh.

Loki wandered through the streets of this town for the rest of the night, hoping for sanctuary but finding none. All the homes were dark, and any door he dared knocked at got more rude responses from these ungrateful humans. Did they not know the tradition of hospitality? They should be honored that a god of his making would choose one of their crumbling huts to seek respite in. Did they know how dangerous it was to deny a _god_ into their abode?

Disrespect such as this, Loki would curse them all. Only he no longer had the ability. Instead of feeling frustrated, he just convinced himself that he was merely granting a mercy to everyone who turned him away.

Which happened to be a lot. And the number continued to grow as the night wore on.

The pain in his body mounted with each step. Loki was starting to wish he hadn't put so much of a fight when the guards had been hauling him to the Bïfrost. They had been all too happy to kick him around, poke and prod with their spears, and basically treat Loki like their favorite battle dummy.

"Traitor," they spat. "Mongrel!"

Loki would make them pay. Every last one of them.

It occurred to Loki that perhaps some of his pain may stem from exhaustion; a foreign concept to a god, but a reality for the average mortal. His stomach growled with the beginnings of hunger and his head felt heavy, yearning for a pillow. He hadn't felt this tired since he last fought Thor, whose strength nearly equaled Loki's Magic.

Nearly.

But although he may be tiring, Loki's senses were not, and he soon became aware that he was being followed.

One of those mortal contraptions, a metal carriage on low-set wheels and powered by an internal combustion engine rather than animals. It made a low growling noise as it prowled, hardly a stealthy predator as it crawled after Loki through the streets. Loki kept looking back at it enough times before it flashed red and blue lights, eventually coming to a stop next to him. In huge white letters emblazoned on the side, the car read: POLICE.

Ah, finally. Mortal authorities, recognizing a god among them and coming to escort him to a suitable dwelling, preferable one of stone and towers, with servants waiting on him hand and foot, and with no one telling him what to do.

The driver of the vehicle got out, tipping his hat up to squint at the God of Mischief. "Sir, I'm afraid you can't be out here at night. There's a curfew. I suggest you go home."

"I cannot," Loki spat. Curfew? Why did a town have a curfew? And why did it need apply to him? He was a god. He was above such petty rules. "I have been cast out of Asgard, and I seek refuge. Take me to your wealthiest citizens and I shall make it worth your while."

"Uh-huh," the man in the blue uniform did not sound enticed by this offer. Instead, he just walked over, reaching out to lay a hand on Loki's shoulder. "Right, sure. Why don't we just go on a ride for the station and-"

"Do not touch me!" Loki snapped, smacking off the offending hand. The officer recoiled - Loki did not exercised restraint when using his strength, and thus sent the man careening into the front of his vehicle. "How _dare_ you lay hands on a god!"

"Whoa!" The officer managed to catch himself before he hit the ground, but it was clear he was caught off guard by the blow. He scrambled to his feet, hands reaching for something in his belt. He scowled, no longer sounding diplomatic as he said, "Easy there, buddy, just calm down! I'm not going to hurt you, okay? You're probably just on some bad acid. How about I just take you home instead -"

"Did you not hear me the first time, you blathering fool?" Loki demanded, dodging out of the way when the man tried to grab him again.

He struck out, smacking the officer with the back of his hand. These mortals needed training in proper respect. " _I have no home_! Odin cast me out! The great Allfather, in all his wisdom, sought to rid me of my sins by forcing me to mix with you filthy, disgraceful _vermin -"_

"Hey!" But the officer did not take the affront as Loki intended. Instead of being cowed by Loki's clear divinity, he instead pulled some puny weapon from his belt, a black device with two nodes on the end, hardly the worst thing Loki had ever faced, "Get on the ground, now! Don't make me us this!"

Loki just laughed, stepping casually about the officer. "Oh, what are you going to do, shoot me-?"

A loud _snap!_ The only preamble Loki had to the attack was four bright wires launching towards him from the officer's device. Loki didn't even flinch because, honestly, what was _that_ going to do?

He found out a split-second later. "Gah!"

It was like he had been hit with a Paralyzing Spell, or one of Thor's lesser strikes of lightning. A sudden jolt of pain, setting every nerve in his body on fire, before his muscles inexplicable locked up against his will and Loki felt himself falling, knees and feet rendered stiff and unbalanced.

Had he been at his full strength, as a god, the attack would have merely slowed him down. But a god could withstand more, and even Thor's weaker attacks could fell even the strongest of mortals.

His head hit the tarmac with a shuddering crack, and the world turned blurry in front of his eyes. The pain kept coming, undulating waves that made his body twitch uncontrollably, muscle spasms that made Loki feel like a stag that had been downed by an arrow, death's rattle in its throat.

Was this what it was like to die? To die a mortal death, at the hands of a mortal? A fool, whose weapon caused undue and cruel pain to an already defenseless victim. Loki knew these humans were savage, but this was abhorrent. Unforgivable. Is this the fate Odin had deemed for his son? No glorious death in battle, no righteous execution. Nothing Loki actually deserved, no.

No. Loki was to be slaughtered, undignified, by some incompetent human, with no honor left to his own name.

Perhaps that was the point. Odin no longer respected Loki. Neither did Thor, or the others. Perhaps this is what they thought he deserved, to be killed unceremoniously and forgotten, as though he had never been born in the first place.

Loki closed his eyes, breathed deep. If this was it, so be it. He would not give Odin the satisfaction of crying, of complaining, of cursing him for a fate he couldn't control.

He only thought of his mother, Frigga. She was as much of Asgard as the rest of them, knew the truth as Odin did, but at least she had loved Loki like her own. Maybe she still did.

Loki wished he had the chance to say good-bye to her. _I'm sorry, Mother. I only wished to make you proud._

Then he waited for the world to fade.

Only it kept going. And going. And going.

Loki felt himself frowning. How long did it take to die? Surely it was faster than this? And less painful. It wasn't hurting nearly as much as it did, and Loki was still very aware of the ground beneath his back, the cold, wet ground finding its way to his scalp and through his armor.

Only quick deaths were painless, and this wasn't hurting nearly as much as it should for a drawn out end. What was happening? Were the fates prolonging his demise, just to spite him?

Loki believed this to be true, but it occurred to him this was not the case. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself someplace different. Inside a confinement, later identified as the back of the vehicle that had stopped earlier.

The seating was cramped, Loki's knees pushed up against the back of the seat. A metal grate separated him from the driver, the officer that had taken him down. The man now currently whistling a happy tune as he controlled the vehicle, leading it down further into the city, where there were more lights.

How did he get here? Loki would have never willingly stepped into this horrid deathtrap. He must have blacked out. A mortal could easily overpower him now, thanks to this new, frail state.

Loki tried to straighten himself, as he was slumped over in his seat, but found his hands bound with thin manacles. He strained against them, but his body was still weak and twitchy from whatever weapon the officer had attached him with.

"W-where are you t-taking me?" Loki stuttered over the words, his chest aching with the effort. There were four burning spots from where the four bolts had landed, leaving horrendous scorch marks on his armor. This was tailor made by the finest blacksmith in Asgard! Ruined by a mortal!

His indignation was stunted by his embarrassment, the fact that he couldn't even sit up straight or speak clearly thanks to the mortal, who just smiled at Loki through the mirror attached to the ceiling. "Taking you to the station, bud. We'll just wait for you to come down from whatever fancy drug you're on before getting you tested and find someone to call. How does that sound?"

The officer sounded far too pleased with himself than Loki could tolerate. But there was nothing he could do to subdue the man's arrogance. The God of Mischief, utterly resigned, muttered incomprehensible blasphemy as his head rolled onto his shoulder before passing gratefully into a deep, restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**I had a hard time deciding whether to put this before or after Avengers, as I find Loki very hard to redeem after he's ruthlessly attacked and killed innocent people. I decided to go with post-Avengers anyways, so his hatred of humans makes more sense, and I developed a reason for it in the next chapter. So read on!**

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Chapter Three

 _Loki's footsteps echoed off the marble floors, loud and desperate as he sought an escape. If he was quick, he could get past the enchantments draining his magic and he could get away without Heimdall ever seeing where he went. So easy. So close._

 _He made a beeline for the stairs that led directly out of the dungeon. Sunlight streamed down, golden and tempting, only as he approached, it became marred by shadows. He looked up, past the steps, and saw a barricade of armor and swords in his way._

 _Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, their faces impassive and weapons drawn; not as if they were about to face someone who was once their friend, but rather a rabid beast that needed to be slayed. He came to a stop, hands in front of him bound by magical bracelets that made it a little harder to run, and stared up at them._

 _"Surrender, Loki," Lady Sif commanded, her dark hair framing equally dark eyes. Unforgiving. Alien. "There is no escape from here."_

 _"Don't make us pursue you," Fandrall added, his rapier at his hip. Always the flashy one, him. "It won't end well."_

 _Loki just smiled. "Not a chance."_

 _And he turned on his heel and ran._

 _Breath huffing, Loki could hear the metal clanging as the warriors made chase. They may be stronger, and better armed, but he was faster, clad only his light robes with no armor to speak of. He tore down one of the side halls, through another cell block filled with more Asgardian criminals._

 _The dungeons were made of black rock, tall dark hallways that seem to emanate despair. Faint glowing came from the torches and the magical transparent walls keeping everyone inside their cells._

 _Loki managed to break his pursuers' line of sight by turning into another cell block, before quickly ducking behind a corner. He waited as the warriors charged on, heading directly through the next threshold, believing him to have gone further. He smiled at their gullibility before turning away from the doorways and down a dark corner between the wall and an empty cell._

 _There was a side passage, another escape route. Loki hadn't gone towards it initially simply because it was less direct, and Loki would rather leave as quickly as possible. But now it was quite useful to him._

 _Not many knew of it. Loki himself had discovered it when he was a young boy, exploring the kingdom and finding all sorts of little secrets. He had been smart enough not to tell any of the warriors about it, because that made it easier to get away from them, especially if they had a penchant for bullying skinny wizard boys._

 _He pressed his hands to the wall, finding the tiny seam of magic that would release the hidden door. It tickled his fingertips, a flash of blue light, and a section of the black wall vanished, revealed a dark void of a passage inside._

 _Loki ducked through it, the door closing behind him. His shoulders brushed against either side of the passage walls, making him curl inward just to get through. Loki also had to keep his head down for fear of banging it against the low, slanting ceiling. He didn't remember the passage being so cramped; then again, the last time he had been in here, he had been just a little boy. This secret path was a little out of the way for a Prince who spent most of his time locked up in the palace and reading books._

 _If his memory held true, this should take him behind a tailor shop in the market district. He could blend easily with the crowd before making his way to another secret exit, one that Heimdall would not see him pass through._

 _The route was long and winding, taking him beneath the city streets and buildings, far away from the dungeon. He could feel the restrictive enchantments fading and he eventually had enough power to cast off the shackles. They echoed as they clattered to the floor, Loki kicking them aside as he pushed onward._

 _It was utterly dark, so Loki had to rely on feel to make his way through. It was easy enough, he just had to be careful of stepping on any mice that may have found its way through the dirt and timber walls._

 _And then, he started to see light._

 _It was dim at first, a slight change from black to a slighter brighter black. Then a graying, and slow detail as the space around him came into focus. The uneven floor, the cracks here and there. Then he turned a corner and saw the exit, a wide rectangle of light._

 _Only to find it blocked by Thor._

 _He was so massive that he didn't even fit inside the passage. Loki stumbled, his pace slowing dramatically as he approached, recognized his brother standing just beyond the threshold, his thick arms crossed like he had been waiting for Loki._

 _Well, he_ had _, hadn't he? Thor was the only one Loki ever told about this passage._

 _Loki cursed himself, forgetting how close he and Thor were when they were children. Of course Thor would know. Back then, Loki adored Thor, and whenever he got scared and needed a place to hide, he always wanted Thor to find him and take him home and make him feel better._

 _Somehow, Loki had the feeling this wasn't going to end in the same way._

 _"Brother," Thor rumbled, his voice a warm baritone that sounded more disappointed than angry. Oh, that stung. It only made Loki hate him more._

 _He knew he didn't have a chance to fight, not like this. So instead he talked. "Oh, don't 'brother' me. We both know the truth. It's high time we face it, don't you think?"_

" _I don't agree with Father's ways," Thor replied, sounding reproachful. His arms dropped to his sides. "He's made mistakes and told too many lies. But there is truth in our childhood; there are things that even Father cannot take away from us, and I will never see you as anything less than a brother to me."_

" _Sadly, I cannot say the same," Loki knew the right words to say to hurt Thor the worst. He had a talent for that. But right now, they felt like lies on his tongue, and bile rose in his throat. He didn't want to do this, but he liked the idea of losing even less. He would not sacrifice his pride. "Your love is not wanted here."_

" _Loki, please," Thor said, holding out a hand. An offer. For what? To stop? To help? Loki wasn't sure. "Do not go through with this. I'm afraid of what Father might do when he finds out. I don't think he has much patience left for you."_

" _Father may do as he please," Loki snapped. "But he won't catch me. Stand aside, Thor."_

" _No." Thor's voice turned hard. Stubborn to the very last._

" _Don't make me hurt you," Loki tried to bluff, voice trembling ever so slightly, and he tried to stand strong. But his chest ached with trepidation. He hoped he would not have to back up those words with harsh actions._

" _It doesn't have to be this way," Thor said, a plea for reason. How unlike the brother Loki used to know. "Don't make a choice you cannot amend, Loki. I cannot bear to lose anyone else."_

" _I'm afraid it's far too late for that, Thor," he replied, fists clenching. Magic started to weave around his fingers, the beginnings of a spell. Loki could not fight Thor, but he may be able to distract him long enough to get away. It was a far better idea than to hurt Thor, in his opinion. "You lost me a long time ago."_

 _But Thor wouldn't listen. "Brother —"_

" _Don't call me that!" Loki shouted, the urge instinctual. He couldn't separate his feelings of pain and anger anymore, unable to figure out just_ what _he hated so much. "Never...Never call me that again!"_

 _Thor's hand fell._

" _I'm sorry, Loki."_

 _And that was when Loki felt the tip of a blade press into his back. Then Sif's voice, "Surrender, Loki. I will not ask again."_

 _He went rigid, speechless. Then he started to laugh. Laughing so hard, he fell to his knees, spell vanishing as his hands brushed his knees. The blade followed him down, Sif suspicious of Loki's intent._

 _But Loki had none left. He was still in awe. "Oh, Thor, how I underestimated you. Who knew you could be so clever, so conniving? You told the others our secret? I thought I could trust you."_

 _The last words were laced with sarcasm, but surprisingly it didn't feel like a lie. Loki felt a burning sensation in the back of his eyes, a lump in his throat. Of all the things to be most furious about, Loki had to feel such a way with Thor's betrayal of childhood promise. Something so inconsequential that even_ Loki _forgot, after all these years, and yet he could not help but that the last of their brotherhood, whatever was left of it, had been thrown away in this moment._

" _Do not mistake my actions for ones of malice," Thor said, stepping back as Sif and a guard that had accompanied her carried Loki out. They deposited him on fresh green grass, the property of the tailor who owned the shed hiding the hidden passageway. "What I do, I do to keep you safe, Loki."_

" _It won't mean much now," Lady Sif remarked, after clamping a new set of manacles on Loki's wrists (this time enchanted so he could not use his magic to escape) and taking her spot at Thor's side to frown down at Loki, who just knelt there in the grass, defeated. Perhaps he could still run...? "Odin has been informed of Loki's escape attempt. We are to escort him back to the King immediately."_

" _Ah, back to the Great Hall," Loki pulled on a wistful smile, tilting his head back to gaze up at the blue, blue sky he had missed for so long. "Tell me, are the floors still as polished as ever? Or have things gone to ruin since you took the throne, Thor?"_

" _I have not," There was a look in Thor's eyes that Loki could not interpret, which just compounded the surprise along with his answer. Thor just angled his chin away, unable to hold Loki's gaze for very long. "There are other duties I must attend to, first, before I make my choice."_

 _Loki opened his mouth, ready to ask just what Thor meant by that. But before he could say anything, the guard grabbed Loki by the arm and hauled him up, forcing Loki to walk before him as they headed off the property. Thor and Lady Sif fell in step behind them, and Loki glanced at them over his shoulder, the question still on the tip of his tongue. But the two warriors had fallen into a quiet conversation he could not hear, and Loki was moving too fast, too far away from them to eavesdrop._

 _He turned back to watch where he stepped, ignoring the looks as they stepped out into the streets and earned the startled looks of everyone in the vicinity. He wanted to scare them with a flash of magic, but could only twist his wrists painfully. He settled with his darkest glare, intimidating anyone who dared look at him for too long and making them flinch away._

 _The effect was satisfying enough for him to smile. That was, until they hit the main road, and turned downhill instead of up, where the palace lay, watching over the realm._

 _Loki kept his eyes on the palace, too startled to look away even as his body was moving in the opposite direction. "Wait, where are we going? I thought we were going back to the palace, where Father is."_

" _The King ordered us to bring you to the Bïfrost." The guard replied in a monotone, although Loki wondered if that twitch in his lips was the sign of a restrained smile. "He is waiting for you there."_

"No. _" His breath escaped his lungs, heart skipping a beat. It can't be true. No. Father wouldn't do this. Not to him. Not to his son. "Please, no."_

 _But the reality was looming with every step closer they took to the bridge, to the Bïfrost lying on the far edge of the realm. Loki dug his heels into the ground. It took him only a split-second to realize what was going on, and he didn't want it. Not like he did before. "No, no, no!"_

" _Hey, get back here!" the guard called, snatching at Loki when the god managed to break out of his grasp. "Guards! Guards! Escaped prisoner on the loose! Don't let him escape!"_

 _Loki only made it a few steps before the guard caught him again, dragging him back by the folds of his robes. More men appeared, brandishing weapons, surrounding Loki on all sides as he wrestled against the arms restraining. "No, I can't go! He can't make me go!"_

" _The King has demanded your presence! You cannot defy his will!"_

" _No, I won't! I can't go! Please, don't make me go!" But no matter how much Loki protested, he could not escape his fate. It had already been decided, and he had lost all favor a long time ago. There would be no mercy now._

 _Not with Odin._

 _The guards used their spears to keep Loki moving, the only convincing measure to keep the god from trying to escape. They tore through his robes, ruining the finery that was once the pride of Asgard. Loki cursed them, in his head and out loud, empty words that only made the guards laugh. They no longer feared him as they once did. He was no longer their prince._

 _They made him bleed a little, just because they could. They were allowed to now, since Loki was no longer an Asgardian. Perhaps they meant to scar permanently, but even Odin would take offence to that. The cuts stung, but not as much as the deep betrayal burning in his heart, the fear of the unknown. Or knowing what the unknown could be._

 _And, finally, he was tossed into the Bïfrost, its large golden cavern a beauty to behold, but only made Loki quake. On the dais stood Heimdall with his sword planted in the receptacle, the Gate a spinning blue-black void. And there was Odin, in front, his cape billowing in the wind of the Gate, one eye gleaming as he held his staff aloft, watching in stoic silence as Loki was brought to kneel before him._

 _Loki had to crane his neck all the way back to look at Odin's face. He tried to find some iota of kindness, a hint of love, of mercy, left in that face, but he found none. The King turned away, as if he couldn't bear the sight of Loki before him. "F-Father, please..."_

" _Am I your father?" Odin muttered, almost to himself, head bowed._

 _Loki blinked, confused, not quite hearing correctly. "W-what?"_

" _AM I YOUR FATHER?"_ _he bellowed, whirling around in a great flurry of cape and flashing armor. Loki flinched away, frightened by the outburst. Only Odin could bear so much power in words alone. "Because it seems as though you choose your family only when it is most convenient to you! I am only your father when you chose not to hate me."_

 _Loki wasn't sure what to say to this, if there was anything to say at all. He felt like a child caught in a lie, and he could only watch with a frozen tongue as Odin continued to speak._

" _You choose favorites from those who love you, and play games with their hearts." Odin said, pointing with his staff. Loki was afraid that the Allfather might smite him then and there, but it was only a gesture of accusation. "You care not for the integrity of their relationships, only how it may benefit you from one moment to the next. Thor is only your brother when you seek kindness, but he is foolish to believe that there is any good left in your heart to save. He tried, dear boy, he tried with all his might to find it, but I fear that the Loki I raised to be King is no longer here."_

" _You raised me to be a pawn!" Loki shouted, absolutely livid, his fear vanishing in a moment. He would not suffer this lecture if he could not reveal hypocrisy in turn. How dare Odin play innocent victim in all this? "You sought to use me as another piece in your game, a method through which you could attain peace, and make Asgard all-powerful! You didn't care about how I would feel about any of this, about telling the truth, so long as I played the obedient son, following your will. But as soon as I no longer proved useful to you, you cast me aside like a broken sword!"_

" _Do not assume to know what I think!" Odin rejoined, swiping a hand through the air. "It was my duty, as it still is, to seek the greater good for Asgard, especially in times like these. When I found you, a forgotten infant, I saw the chance for both mercy and peace — you deserved a chance to have a good life, Loki, no matter what you are, and I wanted a permanent end to the war between Jötunheim. I had raised you to understand that peace, above all, was most important, that all else must be sacrificed to achieve it. It seems as though I failed in that regard."_

" _You lied to me!" Loki said. If Odin thought this was his only fault, he would be sadly mistaken."For all my life you allowed me to believe I was like you, an Asgardian! You made me look like you! Because you couldn't_ bear _to let anyone see a monster within your own court!"_

" _Loki, I did not see you as a monster," Odin sighed, almost frustrated. He closed his eye, shaking his head. "In fact, you were a credit to your species. With you, I saw that Frost Giants might be capable of understanding a peace between our realms."_

" _A credit to my species...?" Loki repeated under his breath in disbelief, while Odin went on to speak. What was_ that _supposed to mean?_

" _But you forsake all that the moment you decided to attack Midgard," Odin turned his glare down on Loki, a glare so fierce that he could not hold it and focused on the floor before him. "You started a war! Innocents died because of your arrogance! Did you not learn from your own brother? Did you not think your actions had consequences? I had hoped, as Thor did, that you would have learned from your misdeeds and assumed responsibility for them while imprisoned. But I was wrong._

" _I should not have been so lenient with you," Odin turned away again, allowing Loki to look up once more. Odin paced back and forth as Loki watched in growing dread. He knew what would happen, but he didn't know what the Allfather would say next. "I let my own love for you blind me. I wanted to see a remorseful son, not a spiteful traitor, and now look what has happened. I should have done this from the very start, instead of giving any opportunity for this foolishness."_

" _Please, don't, I will do any —"_

" _SILENCE!" Odin roared, snarling at Loki with a vicious grimace. The Allfather stopped moving at once to confront him, no longer looking like the kindly, wise father that Loki had grown up with._

 _He got up so close that Loki could see his own reflection in Odin's grieves, and he was entirely helpless when Odin reached out and grabbed a fistful of his robe, bringing Loki to his feet with an unceremonious tug and almost making him fall. Loki stumbled to catch himself, blindly following where Odin led, bringing up on the dais, Loki's back to the portal._

 _Odin almost pushed him away, as though disgusted, saying, "Enough with your silver tongue! I shall hear no more of your lies! I try to be forgiving, but you only continue to deceive at every turn! You leave me no choice, Loki."_

 _Loki tried to speak again, even though it would disobey his father, but his voice died in his throat. He met Odin's gaze, shuddered at the cold light glinting in his father's gray eye._

" _You, Loki, son of Laufey, no longer deserve the love and care of those who live on Asgard," Odin said, his voice suddenly going quiet._

No _, Loki begged in his heart, already torn into a million irreparable, hopeless pieces._ No, Father, I'm sorry, I love you, I always did, please don't do this, please don't do this...

" _You are unworthy of these realms," the familiar words washed over him like acid, only they were soft and cold, like a lullaby before death. "You are unworthy of your title. You are unworthy of the loved ones you have betrayed. I now take from you —"_

" _No!" the word burst off his tongue before Loki could stop himself, but there was nothing he could do. He did not think his father would abandon him. He did not think that his father would take away_ everything _._

"— _your power!" Odin outstretched his hand and Loki felt a deep pull within himself, deeper than his heart, deeper than his bones, a terrible yank that made him cry out. He could almost_ see _the Magic stripped from his soul, ripples in the air as he curled inward, gasping for breath as tears broke from his eyes._

" _In the name of my father," Odin said, as though entirely deaf to Loki's pain. "And his father before, I, Odin Allfather, CAST YOU OUT!"_

 _Before Loki could react, Odin took up his staff, swinging it at him as a bright flash of light exploded from its tip. Loki brought up his arms, as if he could somehow protect himself, but the blast hit him nonetheless, striking Loki square in the chest._

 _It blasted him backwards, the ground leaving his feet, and Loki could only cry out as he was swallowed up by the swirling void of the Gate. Down, down, down..._

"No!" Loki gasped, shooting upright. He hit the floor with a tremendous crash, robes all askew and chest breathing hard, still aching from Odin's strike.

He clutched at his collar, desperately trying to loosen it as he regained awareness of his surroundings. Where was he? How did he get here? Where did Odin send him? Was this Hel, after all?

No. Hel did not have white walls and a barred door to keep him locked up. Loki looked around, his heart rate slowing. Oh. He was still on Earth, trapped in a mortal prison.

He sighed, pushing his hair from his eyes as he fell back against the cot anchored to the wall. Loki had dreamed his own memories, as if he needed a reminder of why he was here, haunting him with the pain that he had lost everything he ever cared about.

A shuddering gasp escaped his lungs and Loki clamped his mouth shut, hands covering his face. No, not here. He would not cry when there were mortals about.

It took Loki several minutes to regain composure, although it felt longer. When he could finally manage to look up again without fearing breakdown, he saw a window in a corner of the room, high up on the wall. It was as black as the night outside.

But Loki could not make himself go back to sleep, not after a dream like that. He merely resigned himself to remaining awake, fighting off the nightmares that threatened to disturb him.

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Changed the summary a little, figured out a way to stream-line the plot a little. Things get a little more interesting in this chapter :)**

 **Please read and review, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

It seemed that no matter where Loki went, he always managed to find trouble.

Every so often Loki would close his eyes and imagine himself somewhere else. Home, Asgard, sweet memories of childhood, before he opened his eyes again, until he found himself in Midgard again, and growled under his breath. Out one prison and into another, it seemed.

The policemen, as he had identified in their blue suits and shiny badges, tested his blood. Loki could not push them away without being threatened with more of those stinging, paralyzing weapons, so he allowed the mortals a sample of his blood. Loki was not entirely sure what they would find, but he knew it would not be what they were looking for.

Whatever the "tests" were, he came back negative, as he was told. No drugs or alcohol in his system.

"Of course not," he sneered at them, because why would he lie? He was a god among men, and they should respect that. "I am a Prince of Asgard, I am immune to all of your foul mortal vices."

But they did not believe him. When the police realized he was not, in fact, high on anything, they came to the only other conclusion: he was a lunatic. Insane. Vulnerable to delusions of grandeur. Wasn't that a type of schizophrenia? Loki did not know what they were talking about, and he did not care. He was not a victim of any human illnesses or disease.

The police tried to work a nonexistent answer out of them. In particular, a stout woman with her hair in a bun was often the intermediary, speaking on behalf of the force at large and apparently working on the idea that Loki was being difficult for the mere sake of it. She offered him food, medical aid, whatever he wanted so long as he let them help him.

"I do not need your help," he snapped at her, crossing his arms and turning his back to the door. Huddled on the little cot, Loki felt more like an insolent child than a wronged deity. "I am Loki, Prince of Asgard. And I have no home."

"Well, okay, Loki Prince of Asgard," the woman said with a smile, as if she were doing him a favor. "Call me if you need anything. Maybe a coffee?"

He rejected the offer and went back to pouting. There was a small window in his little white cell, thick misty glass that gave no detail of the outside world aside from the color of the sky. Loki watched as it turned from black to indigo to orange-blue as the sun approached the horizon. He did not want to sleep in the presence of these mortals, in case they decided to take advantage of him.

Loki was not _sure_ what they would do to him, but he no less doubted their wickedness. These were humans, after all. Who knew what they were capable of when given the chance?

The woman returned sometime after the sun rose. "Hey, there, handsome. How you feeling? Maybe you want to tell us where your hospital is. I'm sure your doctor is very worried about you."

"Hospital?" Loki frowned, still keeping his face to the wall. The police were still convinced he was ill and no matter what he said, he could not convince them otherwise. "There is no hospital. Stop asking me these banal questions, woman, and release me."

"Sorry, handsome, no can do. You're stuck here until the chief figures out what to do with you."

"Then allow me to speak with this chief of yours and perhaps we can reach an agreement." Loki tried to keep his voice neutral, but he was strained with effort of remaining calm when his patience had run out hours ago.

"I'll see what I can do, handsome," the policewoman said, but she sounded more placating than someone willing to actually deal with him. Why did these mortals doubt him so? Was his appearance not convincing enough?

If only he had his Magic, they would see. They would fear him, as they should, and bow down and take their rightful place at his heel. He would make every human tremble before him, let them see what true power looked like.

Of course, after the fiasco that was New York, he doubted that would ever happen. He should not have made deals with forces greater than himself. Loki had underestimated the power of the Tesseract, how it would affect him — particularly in regards to behavior and rationality, and a general inclination to do someone else's bidding.

Like Thor a few years ago, Loki had tried starting a war with a world that would mean the doom of Asgard. It wasn't his idea, but did that matter to anyone? Did anyone show any concern that Loki might be in trouble himself? When Loki was given the task to attack one of the Nine Realms, he had assumed it would be Jötunheim, mostly for its complete lack of use in the universe at large. Who needed an ice world with no resources, filled with ugly, savage beasts that would only invade other realms and spread their disease if they had the chance?

No, he did not think it would be Earth that was the target. But by the time he had arrived, his mind was no longer his own. Yes, a part of him was still in control, the darkest of his emotions, his anger, his hatred, his spite, came through well enough. A part of him was pleased to ruin something Thor loved so dearly, like children fighting over a toy that would break at any second. A part of him thought that if he could conquer this world, bring absolute peace, that his father would see that he could indeed be the King that Odin once saw in him before, and regain that love and respect.

Those were the lies whispered in his ears whenever he had doubts, confusing and intoxicating. Those were the illusions cast by the Tesseract to keep him in control. But Loki would never admit he was weak enough to be so misled.

Perhaps Odin understood, or at least had an idea of what had really happened, because the Allfather had shown him mercy at first, keeping him locked up inside Valhalla instead of cursing him straightaway.

But perhaps Loki was angry that Odin had treated the two brothers so differently. Perhaps he didn't like the idea that he was to be pitied, rather than punished. His old cell had been rather comfortable, despite the lack of room to move, and Loki decided he would much rather be treated like Thor and seen as a threat, rather than a disobedient hound that needed to be rehabilitated.

At least now he wouldn't have to deal with the daily visits of Thor, the oaf, pleading for Loki to apologize and seek forgiveness from a father who had none. Odin had made his decision and washed his hands of the matter. Loki was to be forgotten in a cold, dark corner while everyone else got to move on, able to live happily and without regrets.

Sunrise turned to morning turned to noon. The station got louder as the humans rose with the sun, and he could hear doors clanging as other cells were filled with miscreants. The hooting and hollering was aggravating; at least the prisoners of Asgard remained quiet and civil in their incarceration. Even monsters were more polite than this.

Loki's stomach growled loud enough for even the officers in the front of the building to hear. He hunched his shoulders at the laughter, promising to hex each one of them, even if it was just an empty threat. The policewoman returned with a tray, on it a measly sandwich and a mug of dark liquid.

Loki sneered at the portions. While he did not have the same enormous appetite like most Asgardians did, he still required more sustenance than whatever these mortals considered filling.

Loki decided to try it anyways, too hungry not to. But as soon as the black liquid touched his tongue, he spat it out, surprised by the gritty bitterness. Wiping his mouth, Loki complained (mostly to himself): "Disgusting! How do you mortals consume this vile drink?"

A part of him wanted to toss the food to the floor, just out of spite. But he couldn't afford to do that, like he might've been able to in Asgard — which he didn't because it was rude, but also because it made him worse than that gluttonous Volstagg, who had earned the dubious title the Voluminous thanks to his favorite pastime. The warrior's flaming beard was often filled with scraps a food that either didn't make it to his mouth or on the table, and it may be days before it was cleaned again.

The very idea made Loki sick to his stomach, and it reminded him of why he liked to eat in his own quarters during feasts.

But it wasn't like he could summon his own food anymore. And his stomach would not be filled with the over abundance of loathing he had for this place. So Loki made himself eat, if only so the police officers would stop laughing at him as though he were a jester in a King's court. It was one thing to actively seek laughter, usually through humor or trickery, but when his whole existence seemed to be a joke to others, Loki could not bear it.

The humans did not fear him. No. They thought he was a fool.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, delivered by a very angry shieldmaiden. Never had he felt so humiliated before, not when he faced his father for treason, or withstood the jeers and insults when the crowds watched him pass from the Great Hall to the dungeon. The shame in his family's eyes, the vile in his old friends' expressions.

Well, they weren't really his friends, were they? Lady Sif and the Warriors Three had been playmates of Thor, first and foremost. They only made company with Loki when Thor was around; when he wasn't, Loki was often alone. The warriors shared most of their classes together, mostly dealing with swordfighting and horse riding and all manner of proud Asgardian skills.

Meanwhile, Loki practiced Magic with his Mother and other special tutors that had to be brought in from other realms. He was particularly gifted at it, and enjoyed it much more than being a shield dummy for Thor's wild, unpracticed whacks with a blade. There was finesse to Magic that could not be found in the broad metal weapons the blacksmith forged, an artform that took skill and practice and long nights studying. Anyone could swing a sword, but only a select few could wield Magic.

You were not respected unless you could fight well and at least one wild boar head to your name. Loki had neither when Thor had that and much more, just on the cusp of adulthood. Thor at least convinced him to train with a dagger and staff, weapons that a Mage would be familiar with. And Odin had a staff, so if Loki could wield one, then he couldn't be a bad fighter, could he?

These childhood memories, some sour, some sweet, left a ghost of a smile on Loki's face. He sometimes wished for simpler times, when the world seemed large and happy and problem-free, and he was nothing more than an Asgardian boy, dreaming of being Kings alongside his brother.

A loud bang shook Loki from his reverie. He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see that his cell door was open. The policewoman stood in the threshold, a bright smile on her face. "You're good to go!"

"What?" Loki frowned at her, wondering if the humans were playing a joke on him to get another laugh.

"Chief said you're free to go. No drug charges, and apparently you don't belong in an asylum, since none of the ones we contacted are missing you." The woman shrugged her shoulders. Her cheeriness was starting to grate on Loki's nerves. "And we can only hold you for twenty-four hours. And we need the extra room. Just got a shipment of drunk frat boys, and you're not nearly enough trouble to keep."

Oh, how lovely. Not only was he a mortal now, but he had lost his status of troublemaker as well.

But Loki was nothing if not opportunistic and he swept to his feet, cape swishing around with familiar grandeur. "About time."

He stepped out of the cell, casting a withering look at the wall of cells on either side. The policewoman led him back to the front of the station; as he passed cells, hands popped out between the bars, snatching at him and his cape, trying to tug him backwards. Loki managed to throw them off with a flick of his shoulders.

"What's with the cape, Vader?" One of them called. "You missed the convention?"

"Yo, pretty boy! What's with the fancy look? The Renaissance Fair was last month!"

"What, you're not even gonna look at us? You too good for that?"

"Pansy!"

"Freak!"

Loki winced a little, but dared not let it show in front of his audience. He would refuse to give these criminals the pleasure of any attention. They were not worth the time of a god.

The only warning he got was not to get drunk and wander the streets at night. They forgave him for the slight against the officer that arrested him, the man finding Loki far too funny to press charges. Loki spotted him down another hall, laughing it up with some coworkers; he seemed to be doing an impression, going rigid and shaking his body, making a ludicrous expression.

Loki stared for several seconds, confused, before he finally realized that the officer was mimicking _him_ when he had been stunned by the pronged weapon. Then the officers noticed him watching and burst into a new gale of laughter. Loki ducked his head, gritting his teeth and fuming silently.

He could not leave that police station fast enough.

Loki shoved his way through the front doors and flew down the steps, a free man once more. He blinked and breathed in the cool, clear air, glad to be out of that cramped little space. Loki took in the sight of the town Lost and Longing.

He seemed to be somewhere in the center of town, with the thick collection of buildings, some made of glass and towering high overhead, and others, smaller, made of stone and wood, looking older and ready to fall apart.

Weak sunlight filtered through thick and silver clouds. The streets were alive with activity, pedestrians shopping and metal vehicles starting and stopping in frustrating lines of traffic. The smell of bread and cake wafted from a nearby bakery, as well as the exhaust from the vehicles and more smells from several restaurants that almost made Loki salivate.

But he shook his head and concentrated on the problem before him. He needed to get his magic back and the mortal food could wait. He doubted it could satisfy one with tastes as sophisticated as his, anyways.

So with a huff and a jerk of his chin, Loki stepped into the streets.

People stared at him everywhere he went, pointing and whispering and laughing behind hands. It was less humiliating than the experience with the police, and Loki tried to make the best of it; at least people were noticing him, even if that attention wasn't the kind he wanted. Still, Loki needed answers, a way out of here if he could. A god didn't belong in a _village_.

He tried approaching some mortals, hoping they could provide helpful information, but the effort proved mainly fruitless.

"You want to see our leader?" A woman asked, barely containing a smile as her other friends burst into giggles behind her. She pointed over his shoulder, at a white building with a clock tower. "Well, the Mayor works at the Town Hall, you could probably try there. You look familiar, have I met you before?

The comment was bizarre and Loki had no idea what possessed the woman to ask him that. He just wrinkled his nose at her. "Of course not. I've only just arrived here."

"Hm," the woman tilted her head, apparently still convinced that she knew him somehow, but that was impossible. "Maybe you look like someone on TV. Hey, are you an actor?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't waste my valuable time entertaining the likes of you."

But his insult, and a rather unsubtle one at that, was only met with more laughter and Loki was forced to stalk away in order to save face. But Loki figured that if he wanted power back, he'd have to kill the Mayor and assume their status. He'd eventually move on to greater conquests, gain a position of power until Asgard finally noticed him again, but at least the locals here would fear him like they should.

So he made his way to the Town Hall, its front doors opened to allow a line of people through. They appeared to be waiting for something, but Loki had no idea what. There was another stream of people walking in and out, seemingly unrelated to the line, and Loki decided he might as well walk right in. It wasn't like anyone could stop him, anyways.

He crossed the street, ignoring the strange flashing lights overhead and causing two vehicles to swerve around him and screech to a stop. The smell of burnt rubber permeated the air around Loki as the drivers got out and shook fists at him, calling insults and threats that fell on deaf ears.

They faded behind him as Loki stepped back onto the sidewalk and started up the white stone steps. The line of humans turned their heads, immediately noticing his attire and exchanging looks with one another. Loki noticed each one of them held a slip of paper in their hands.

Just inside the doors was a table with sitting workers, men and women, who dealt with the line of people and directed them to small closets with red curtains. Some were filled, with the legs of their occupants sticking out beneath the fabric. Loki frowned, mildly confused. What was this, some strange mortal custom?

"Hey, there, sir!" A woman piped, waving at him from the table. Loki saw her and approached after a second of deliberation, deciding it was worth to see what she knew. "Are you here for the Mayoral election?"

"Election?" Damn, these humans were democratic. That meant killing the Mayor wouldn't give him the authority he needed. It would only make him more vilified than before.

He cursed to himself. If there was one Asgardian tradition he could appreciate, it was earning power through ritual challenges to the death. At least it made things quicker.

"Have you been registered yet?" The blonde woman asked, tilting her head. She reached for a paper among the many stacked there, handing it to him. "It's pretty simple, you just need your Social Security Number and an ID —"

"No, I don't wish to vote," Loki held up his hand, rejecting the paper. She dropped it, confused. "I wish to have audience with your Mayor."

"Well, Mayor Faust's office is up those steps but —" the blonde woman said, motioning towards the staircase in the far right corner of the hall. Loki saw it and didn't wait for her to finish before striding towards it. He heard the scraping of a chair as the woman got up and called, "Wait, you have to schedule an appointment first!"

But Loki ignored her and continued up the steps. Gods don't make appointments. He must meet with this Mayor Faust immediately.

At the top of the steps was a short hallway, much more quieter and reserved than downstairs. The carpet and mahogany walls gave a nice feeling of warmth and solitude. In front of him stood another desk, a stick-like woman with graying hair sitting behind it. She was tapping at some machine, bespectacled eyes fixed to the glowing display. He assumed her to the Mayor's personal scribe, a secretary who acted as an intermediary between Faust and his people, and thus of no importance to Loki.

The secretary didn't even notice him until he walked by. "Uh, sir, can I help you?"

Again, Loki paid them no mind.

Just as Loki's fingers landed on the handle that led to the Mayor's office, the door burst open. He jumped back to avoid the swinging door, but not quick enough to avoid the girl rushing out; so busy with getting her coat on she didn't see him on the other side.

Their shoulders collided, Loki stumbled back, the girl tripped forward. Loki managed to right himself before he could fall. "Oi! Watch yourself!"

The girl was frantic, stumbling over her words as she caught herself on a nearby waiting chair. "Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry, sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, I didn't see you there —"

"Were you raised by trolls?" As she tried to brush past him, Loki grabbed her wrist, not willing to let this slight pass. It was rude enough not to give a formal apology, but considering how hard she hit, Loki expected some groveling. "Have you no sha—?"

Only he could not finish his sentence, because as soon as his hand brushed against her skin, a bright blue arc of energy arced over his fingers. His whole hand went numb in an instant, a painful shock traveling up his arm. Loki did a double-take. "What in the...?"

The woman gasped, feeling it, too. Her freckles popped out against her paling skin. She went absolutely still, hazel eyes going wide, pupils turning to pinpricks as she went stricken.

Their gazes connected with each other, both parties unable to move. Loki didn't let go as the seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was running in circles, so surprised he didn't know what to think. But there was no mistaking what just happened.

Loki didn't know how or why or who this girl was, just the one thing that kept repeating itself over and over in his head. "...you have Magic."

"What?" Her reaction was instantaneous. The girl jerked back, wrenching her arm from Loki's grip. Although he knew she heard what he said, the girl just started shaking her head, saying, "Sorry, gotta go!"

Before Loki cold stop her, she elbowed past him and took off in a storm of clicking heels, racing for the stairs. Loki whirled around, reaching out to snatch her red scarf, but it flicked away and his hand closed on empty air.

She was already halfway down the steps when Loki reached the banister at the top. The girl was struggling to get her coat on, shoving past other people, tossing them aside like bothersome chickens, and disappearing from sight.

Damn. Loki slammed his fist into the wooden bar, frustrated with himself. How could he let her get away so easily?

He just couldn't believe it. It was impossible. Earth, while abundant with life, was practically devoid of Magic. Any there was brought from another realm, and usually kept hidden from the humans who sought to abuse it. It was why the Asgardians had withdrawn themselves from this realm so long ago, the responsibility as their deities too much to bear. But Loki had never heard of a human possessing Magic themselves.

...unless she wasn't human.

" _Excuse me, sir!"_ A shrill voice broke through his thoughts, and Loki whirled around, scowling at an equally irritated secretary. She spoke slowly, enunciating as though he were an idiot. "Can. I. Help. You?"

Loki was about to tell her off before he reconsidered it. Pulling away from the banister, he approached her, trying to put on his most reasonable smile. "Yes, actually. Can you tell me who that woman was, the one that just left?"

"That was Maren Ramsey, she works at the science facility uptown," the secretary replied, returning to her seat with a prim nod, running a hand over her ruffled blouse to smooth it. "They're doing work for Mayor Faust over there, and she comes by every week or so to give him updates. Why, do you need something?"

"I'm a..." Loki tried to think of what he could say to convince the secretary to give him more information. "A _colleague_ of Lady Ramsey, and I have work that needs to be delivered to her address. Do you have it, by any chance?"

"Uh, of course, I have it on file here," the secretary said, giving him an odd look before peering through her glasses at the screen of her machine, working the many keys and oblong device attached to it. "Ah, yes, she lives at Apartment 13C on 87 Persimmon Avenue, Lost and Longing. Is that all?"

There was no reply. When the woman looked up again, Loki was gone.

 **~oOo~**

It took some more asking around and accidentally hailing a yellow vehicle before Loki could finally reach Maren Ramsey's home. By that time, the sky had turned a grey-lavender, twilight crawling over the city.

Already he was formulating a plan, a wonderful scheme to undo what Odin had done. This girl, her Magic, it could prove very useful to Loki; much more useful than these idiot humans who probably didn't even believe in Magic anyways, if Thor's stories of this realm were true. This particular girl could be the key to getting his own power back and returning to Asgard. Prove to his father that he was worthy. Or maybe destroy him.

Loki wasn't sure yet. He wasn't really sure of anything at the moment, but he would never admit it out loud. He hated Odin and Thor and all those brutish Asgardians and their ancient, dogmatic ways — yet he could not help but miss them, wish for them to love him again.

The chaotic thoughts were distracting and only served to confuse Loki more, so he pushed them from his mind for now. He would cross that bridge when he got there.

At first, Loki thought the driver made a mistake when he stopped outside a rather unimpressive fifteen-story building, made of brick and clipped facades. There were bars over the bottom windows, like a prison, and a rickety series of metal platforms and ladders on the side.

This was not a suitable home for any practitioner of the Magical arts. Why would she live here?

But the driver wasn't wrong, as Loki discovered after he left the vehicle (after nearly getting into a physical fight when the driver demanded payment, and was lucky that Loki only shoved him over the front end of the vehicle rather than snapping his neck like the insolent mortal deserved). Loki could not enter the building, however, since the door was locked and he did not understand the system linked to the apartment numbers. They had names beside them, noting the occupants, and Loki found Maren Ramsey well enough — but how to reach her?

He pressed his hand over the off-white nodes sticking out beside the numbers. He got a resounding chorus of beeps in response, but the door did not open.

Eventually, Loki mashed enough of the buttons that annoyed voices started coming through the machine, telling him to cut it out, before they finally relented and he heard a click; the signal that the door was unlocked. Smiling to himself, Loki went inside. That wasn't so hard after all.

The entry hall was dark, only a single orange light in the ceiling. The floor seemed to be made of tile, but it had a slight bouncy quality that he didn't like at all. It revolted him, a sensation only heightened by the peeling walls and stench of mildew that permeated the air.

Did all humans live in dank hovels like this? How could a civilization so lauded for its technology and culture growth without Magic still have places like this not yet condemned? Why would humans subject their fellow men to this?

Loki didn't see why Thor loved this world so much. Nothing here impressed the God of Mischief.

There was a flight of stairs and an elevator available, only the elevator was blocked by thick slashes of yellow tape with the word 'CAUTION' printed on it, and an extra sign saying the lift was out of order. From the state of yellowing in the paper, Loki assumed it had been this way for a while. So Loki had to climb the thirteen floors to Maren Ramsey's apartment.

It proved to be a greater endeavor than Loki anticipated. On the third floor he started feeling out of breath, on the seventh his legs started to ache, and by the tenth floor there was a stitch in his side. That was when Loki remembered he only had a sandwich and some coffee today, hardly a meal befitting a Prince of Asgard.

He would need sustenance and soon, or else Loki feared he might fall ill, perhaps even pass out.

He had already been unconscious once today and Loki was not looking forward to reliving the experience.

Finally, _finally_ Loki reached the thirteenth floor. He stopped at the landing and keeled over, hands planted on his knees as he caught his breath. He needed a moment to recompose. Loki would not face this girl while he looked so weak.

Then, straightening, Loki approached the door labeled 13C and knocked. As he heard footsteps, Loki prayed that this human would be completely rational and not react negatively to his presence.

The door opened just a few inches for Maren Ramsey to look out. Loki was about to speak when she cried, "Oh, not you! Go away!"

She slammed the door just as Loki tried to move forward and it almost hit him on the nose. He jerked back, scowling, slamming his fist on the door again. "I don't wish to harm you, mortal, only let me speak!"

"Leave me alone!" she called, her voice sounding far away, as though she had moved away from the door. Loki tried the knob, but of course it was locked. "Please! I don't have anything you want!"

"I disagree!" If he had his Magic he wouldn't have to deal with this nonsense. He could just teleport inside.

...Then again, if he had Magic, he wouldn't be here in the first place.

"Well, I don't care! Get out of my building before I call the cops!"

Okay, that was definitely _not_ was Loki needed right now. It was bad enough they thought him a fool, he did not want to get arrested for a crime he did not commit. "I promise you, I mean no harm! You hold more interest to me alive than dead!"

That wasn't the best way to phrase it, Loki realized after the fact, because the girl just laughed. "Oh, great, that's nice to know! What, do you only plan on killing me _after_ you've gotten what you want?"

"If you think I am here to pillage and burn, you are sorely mistaken," Loki had to try his best to remain calm, because his patience was running thin with this mortal. How could he show her he was not hostile? If only she would open the door again, it would be easier to explain. "I saw what you did. I know what it is. You can't hide from it forever. Someday you'll face a threat you will not defeat because you ignored me!"

There was a length of silence. Soft padding footsteps, hesitant as though the girl was still in the midst of decision while moving, before the door opened a crack. One curious hazel eye peered at him. "What do you mean?"

Loki stepped forward. "Let me in and I can—"

"No! Just go away!"

She tried slamming the door again but this time Loki was ready. He brought up his arm and braced it against the painted wood, keeping it from shutting entirely. "Not until you listen!"

"What the hell?" the girl tried putting more weight into her push but could not overcome Loki's strength. She could only keep him from opening the door wider. It wavered dangerously between them, a battle of wills. Her head bobbed in and out of view, her face turned to glare at him. "What do you _want_?"

"You have Magic," Loki said to her, voice slightly strained with the effort to keep the door opened. He could feel his strength waning by the minute. He could not keep this fight up forever. It was a terrible thought, but there was a slight possibility that a mortal might actually win against Loki.

"That's not an answer," the girl snapped back. "And no, I don't!"

"Oh, yes you do, you're just too afraid to admit it," Loki retorted, baring his teeth in a facsimile grin. He could easily find the lie in her voice, the lack of conviction in her words. She knew he was right.

"And what makes you the expert?" the girl demanded, her head drawing back in fear. "How would you even know what it was? How do you know I didn't just get it from a-a science experiment gone wrong or something?"

"Because I know what Magic feels like," he replied. This might be the longest conversation he had without lying in a while. Well, until now. "Because I have it, too."

The girl froze, her eyes going wide, focusing on his face. He could see the shock, the hesitation, but also the hope. She wanted to hear this, she wanted it to be true. He just needed her to admit it.

She was silent for a long moment, considering his words. Then, softly, "How?"

"If you let me in, I can explain," Loki said, knowing she wouldn't refuse. Or he expected she wouldn't. Loki really just didn't want to be standing out in this decrepit hallway anymore. He had backed away from the door, removing his arm so the door could swing freely again. Give her the safety of choice. "I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Maren Ramsey looked at him for a long time, her eyes dark and distrustful. Then she closed the door.

The breath left his chest in a sudden, horrible sense of dismay. Loki's balance shifted unexpectedly and he caught the wall for support. Just as soon as he thought he might have found a way to get his magic back, if not home, it was all taken away from him again, before he ever had a chance.

Not even losing to those blasted Avengers disheartened him this much. At least he had been _glad_ the war was over.

Loki was doomed to a mortal existence after all. Sentenced to a life of lonely wandering, a freak that didn't belong anywhere.

Perhaps Father was right. Maybe this was what he deserved.

 _Clunk._

...Could it be? Loki picked up his head, watching in growing disbelief as something rattled on the other side of the door.

It swung open and Maren Ramsey stood in the doorway, tall and thin inside the wide doorframe. Her expression had turned hard, and perhaps a little annoyed, too.

"Get in."


	5. Chapter 5

**Most of the doctor/sciency stuff here are named after scientists who worked on the Manhattan Project. So is Maren, actually, although that was coincidence. Just some fun bit of trivia, I guess.**

 **Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

Chapter Five

There was now a crazy Shakespeare actor in her apartment, in a fancy World of Warcraft outfit and an accent straight out of a Bond movie. Specifically, the villain.

He stood awkwardly on the welcome mat, looking incredibly out of place in his finery next to the rather humble furniture and faded wallpaper. He remained utterly silent as he surveyed the room, eyes glowering. This man in green seemed to be entirely from another world, cape swishing about his feet and little plates of armor gleaming under the dim light. His hair, dark as pitch, was slicked back, reaching past his shoulders and looking more than a little unkempt. He looked like he needed a haircut, and maybe a hamburger or two. He was pale and lanky; despite the armor, he didn't seem much like a warrior. There was a slouch in his shoulders, but he stood tall and imposing nonetheless. There was an undeniable regal air about him, something ethereal that Maren couldn't quite put her finger on.

But his most striking feature was his eyes. An unnatural green color, like poison, that took in everything with a sneer of disdain and superiority.

He was certainly handsome, leagues ahead of most men (and some women) you could find in Lost and Longing, but Maren didn't like the subtle air of menace about him, like a lion prowling behind a cage. You knew you were safe, but only just. If that lion had the opportunity, it would reach beyond those bars and rip you to shreds.

Maren watched him from a few meters away, partially hiding behind the corner and seriously reconsidering her mental state. What was she thinking, opening her door to this weirdo? He'd probably say anything just to fool her, to trick her into a false sense of security, before knocking her out and dragging her to his secret torture dungeon...

Maren needed to stop watching _Criminal Minds_ so much.

She was trying to think of something to say, even ask him to leave (because this was already starting to feel like a bad idea, she could tell) but it was the man in green who spoke first.

"...This is where you live?" he asked, almost hesitantly, like he couldn't quite comprehend it.

"Uh, yeah," Maren frowned, glancing around. What, was her apartment not up to snuff for a _homeless_ guy? "Is there a problem?"

It was a one bedroom/one bathroom apartment, the best she could afford with her job at Bohr Labs. Behind her was the kitchenette; to her right was the "Living Room" if you could call it that — it only had one couch, where she usually ate dinner, and a TV propped up on a stack of useless college textbooks that she was still trying to sell on EBay. The wallpaper was yellowed from the last tenant's debilitating nicotine addiction, leaving a residual stench behind. Maren would love to re-panel her walls, but she'd rather have enough money to eat instead.

She didn't particularly _like_ living here (as if anyone would) but she was now feeling quite defensive with some loser criticizing it, as if he had any say on the matter.

The man in green fixed her with a disapproving look. "These amenities are not satisfactory for my needs."

Maren couldn't quite believe his audacity. "Gee, I'm sorry I didn't have a _luxury suite_ prepared for the arrival of your Royal Highness. Beggars can't be choosers, pal."

The man looked insulted, and he took a deep breath to say, "I am _no beggar_. I am a Prince of Asgard, and I hold far more power than your puny mortal mind can comprehend."

"You're a...Prince?" Maren said, making a face. Man, she was only joking about the 'Royal Highness' thing. So was this guy homeless _and_ crazy? "What's Asgard?"

"Only the birthplace of the gods," the man said, puffing up his chest like this was supposed to mean something to her. "Which your ancestors had the wisdom to revere as such. I recommend you follow their example, if you know what's good for you."

"Right," Maren said, barely restraining an eye roll. She was not about to take threats from a guy that looked like a twig with eyes. "Well, _my_ ancestors came in on the Mayflower and nearly wiped out the entire family line because they were stupid enough to try colonizing America without enough supplies, so I don't think wisdom is really a strong point for them. And, just for the sake of entertaining this totally insane story you've got going on, what exactly is your name, O Prince of Asgard?"

"You may address me as Loki, God of Mischief and Lies. I was one of the greatest sorcerers Asgard ever knew."

" _Was_?" Maren did not fail to notice his particular phrasing.

Loki (if that was truly his real name) hunched up his shoulders, fingers curling into fists. It was almost like she caught him in a lie, although he seemed too proud to admit to anything. He glanced down, fury sparkling in his acid-colored eyes and bitterness lacing every word: "I cannot make a claim to a place I no longer call home."

"So they kicked you out?" Maren guessed. It didn't seem so far-fetched, considering his attitude and all.

He flashed her an irritated look. "Do not presume to know what happened, mortal. The dealings of the gods are far beyond your understanding."

"But you can still tell me about M-Magic?" Maren said, her tongue catching on the loaded word. She hoped Loki wouldn't notice, but he seemed to be the type who saw everything. It felt so odd to say it out loud. To admit it was real.

To believe every word coming out of Loki's mouth.

"Yes."

It was almost too good to be true. She squinted at him. "Then prove it. Show me you have it, too."

Loki hesitated.

"I can't."

Maren blinked once, somehow unsurprised yet horribly disappointed at the same time. For a few moments, she had dared to hope, dared to dream that she wasn't alone, wasn't a freak. That someone might be able to understand her. Of course the Universe would remind her that such things could never exist.

She surged forward, pointing at the door. "Get out."

Loki jolted back, startled by her abrupt change in demeanor. He raised his hands, saying, "Please, don't —"

"I said get out!" Maren's shout surprised even herself. She was furious with herself for letting herself fall for this guy's ruse. He must think she was an idiot, a total fool to have let him in and let him blab about Asgard and gods and Magic like he even knew what it might mean to her. Maren wouldn't stand for it. She had endured enough shame and embarrassment to last a lifetime.

But Loki stood his ground. When Maren inevitably drew nearer, his upraised hands collided with her chest, pushing her back. Affronted, Maren aimed the full force of her glare upon this so-called god, only to meet the earnest, desperate look of a man at the end of his rope, false bravado fading into something small and tired. His robes, which had looked so regal and elegant from afar, were actually covered in dirt and grime, now that Maren was close enough to see. There was a tear across one arm and scuffing along the metal plates that marred the intricate design. There were pieces missing the in the diamond-shaped chainmail.

Maren even noticed the lacerations around his wrist, where the skin had been rubbed raw by what must have been cuffs or bindings of some sort. She winced in sympathy, despite herself.

Whatever Loki had been a Prince of, he hadn't been one for a long time now.

"Just bear with me," he pleaded and Maren took in how hollow those cheeks were, the bags under those piercing green eyes. It was enough to get her to listen to him for a moment longer. "My Magic was stolen from me, but my knowledge remains. I can still teach you. All I ask for is a favor in return."

"What kind of favor?" Maren demanded, scowling. She took a step back, crossing her arms and turning down the hostility several notches. Still, she was suspicious. You don't make deals lightly in a town like this. They had a way of biting you in the ass later.

And Maren swore there was almost a smile on his lips. "Help me get my power back."

She pursed her lips, arms crossed as she considered it. Well, it wasn't the _worst_ thing he could've asked from her. Maren honestly thought it would've been something gross or evil, like selling her soul or sacrificing a couple cats. "And how do you plan to do that?"

But Loki just shook his head, looking a little more at ease now that Maren wasn't about to throw him out. "All in good time. It's too early to say what you can do or what you're capable of. There is much for you to learn, and it will take time. But first...I must impress upon your hospitality. I haven't had a good meal in quite a while."

Maren frowned, rocking back on her heels and dropping her head. It seemed even gods were susceptible to the most basic of needs. Not that she could argue, she was getting a little hungry, too. "Oh, fine. I'll cook some Mac N' Cheese. But then you're going to be giving me some answers. And I've got _a lot_ questions. You can sit on the couch over there."

Loki glanced over, looking reluctance, apparently still not pleased with the housing arrangements, but there was nothing to be done about it. He just nodded and sighed. "So be it, then."

As soon as he sat down, Loki looked near ready to pass out from exhaustion, but Maren didn't say anything on the matter. Despite everything, she believed his story about being a god, a Prince of Asgard. Now that she thought about it, the word didn't sound so unfamiliar. Wasn't there another guy who claimed the same thing? Some buff blond dude with a hammer. He had been in New Mexico, then New York when the aliens attacked. Maybe Loki knew him.

Maren had been living in Lost and Longing for the past five years, so she had not been in New York City when it was attacked. Mere luck, she supposed. Lost and Longing wasn't a great town, but it was much preferable to a city that seemed to be a hotspot for danger. Had she not come here for college and later her job, Maren would still be living in Brooklyn with her mom and dad.

She should call them. They were getting antsy recently, wanting her to visit after so many years apart. Maren didn't want them coming here, but she had yet to explain to them why she couldn't just _leave_ Lost and Longing. It was almost impossible to think of. How could they understand the truth when they couldn't even believe her other little secret?

Maren looked up from the pot of boiling water, taking in the man now dozing on her couch. Lost and Longing didn't usually get a lot of newcomers, at least not without the Mayor's knowledge. Was that why he was at the Town Hall? Did Loki actively seek him out? She hoped not. In fact, Maren hoped the Mayor would never learn that there was a god in their midst. Someone actually strong enough to fight back.

 _No, don't get ahead of yourself_. Maren shook her head to herself, almost laughing at her own optimism. _He doesn't even have Magic. He can't do anything to the Mayor even if he_ is _some super special Prince from the land of gods_. _Even if the Mayor didn't know about him, Loki is just as trapped as the rest of us_.

Did Loki even know of the danger that lied in Lost and Longing, the price one paid for treading into its borders? Maren doubted it. He seemed far more concerned with his lost Magic and whatever family issues he had back home in Asgard.

One thing was for certain. If Maren planned on keeping him around, she needed to make sure Loki didn't cause any undue attention. That outfit and that attitude were not going to fly in a place like this.

Which might be a little hard, if he held true to the God of Mischief title.

As soon as the macaroni was ready, she mixed it into cheese mix and scooped it into two bowls. She decided to give a larger portion to Loki, who really did look a few pounds short of healthy. She didn't care if he liked it or not; if he was hungry, he would eat it.

With one bowl in each hand, Maren walked towards the couch a few meters away. She nudged Loki with her foot. "Wakey, wakey, Sleeping Beauty. Supper's ready."

Loki shifted, eyes flickering blearily before he righted himself on the couch, gazing about in confusion. He seemed not to recognize the place for a few moments. "Mm...did I fall asleep?"

"Only for about thirty minutes or so," Maren shrugged, setting down the bowl on the table in front of him. "Here's your food. Eat up. You look like a dead scarecrow."

"What is this?" Loki leaned over and wrinkled his nose at the yellow-cheese-covered dish.

"It's macaroni and cheese. Macaroni. And Cheese." Maren really didn't know how to explain it any more than that. How the hell do you describe Mac-N-Cheese? It was right in the name! "Like, wheat product in the shape of little tube things, covered in cheese make from cow's milk —"

Loki held up a hand for her to stop, beleaguered enough to close his eyes. "I understand the composition of pasta and cheese, thank you. It just looks...unappetizing. The kind of thing you feed to hogs."

Maren tilted her head, thinking about it for a moment. She had grown up on this type of food, so it wasn't that weird for her, but maybe for someone from Asgard this looked akin to haggis or something.

(Ugh. Haggis.)

"Yeah, I guess so," she finally admitted with a shrug, sitting on the Lay-Z-Boy positioned perpendicular to the couch. She didn't like this spot so much — the cushion made squeaky sounds — but she didn't feel comfortable enough to sit so close to Loki on the couch. She doubted he'd like it either. "It tastes pretty good, though. At least to petty mortals like me. "

Loki frowned at her. "Are you making a jest at my expense?"

"Will you just try it? It's not going to kill you, Shakespeare."

"I take offense to being called after a dead mortal bard." He snapped. "Who wasn't even that good, by the way."

"I take offense at having to deal with someone like you," Maren shot back. "But you don't see me complaining, do you?"

Loki gave her one last squinty look before reaching for the fork sticking out of the bowl. Maren waited until he began eating before smiling and saying, "Not so bad, is it?"

"Silence, mortal."

She hid her smirk behind her own spoon. It had started to rain soon after that, a low rumbling thunder that seemed to set Loki on edge. But he didn't say anything and it felt a little awkward with them eating in silence, so she reached for the remote and flicked the TV onto the news. She was glad to find Loki was not on it. The god watched the box with a curious look, probably having never seen one before. He didn't ask what it was or who the people were, just returned to his meal without any words.

(Maren had to admit, she was a little disappointed. For a god that didn't seem to know Earth very well, he didn't seem fazed by much. She couldn't imagine how strange Asgard must be if that were true).

Loki ate the macaroni without too much complaint. Actually, he ate his faster than Maren's, despite having more. She only gave him a second helping after he asked nicely. It took longer than she thought.

"In the halls of Valhalla," Loki started as Maren went back to the stove. He sounded all uppity and insufferable, like somehow normal, human customs were depraved and barbaric. "Each guest at the table had their own servant attending him. They didn't need any command to do their job. They merely remained observant, and understood their master's desires at a moment's notice - filling their drink, replacing their goblet, fetching an extra serving of roasted Vanaheim quail - the process was seamless and no man ever left that table unsatisfied."

"Well, I'm no servant," Maren reminded him, spooning more macaroni into his bowl and feeling extremely tempted to spit in it. But she restrained herself; Loki was just waxing nostalgic, clearly missing his home, and unaccustomed to life on Earth. He probably didn't want to adapt, too used to getting his royal way, but Maren figured he'd learn soon enough. "And I can't read your mind. If you want something, you have to ask. It's easier than it sounds and actually works most of the time. You should try it."

Loki frowned at her as she returned with the next serving, pointing up his nose. "...Perhaps. It's rather inconvenient, though."

"Well, unless you can teach me how to mind read, you better get used to it," Maren said wryly, sitting back down and pushing the bowl on the table towards him. "I think you're going to find that human life is full of inconveniences."

She took a second to watch a Loki grabbed the second serving and started eating that, too, perhaps even more hungrier than the first time. She tilted her head, pinning him with a curious look. "So, how _did_ you learn Magic?"

"My mother taught me," Loki replied after a thick swallow, coughing a little bit when the too-large bite when down his throat. He gazed down at the bowl in contemplation, then went on, "She's one of the strongest Magic-users Asgard has ever seen. She saw that from a young age I had a proclivity for the arcane arts and a deeper knowledge of our universe, preferring to read books and study than join my play mates in sword fights. She saw the potential for greatness in me."

"If she's your mother, she must be Queen, right? Queen of Asgard?"

"Indeed. Few rivaled her power, and none were as gifted at the healing arts as she. My mother was the one that saved Odin from his curse, creating a special incantation so that he remained protected and nourished while in his Odinsleep."

Now Maren had a whole slew of new questions, mainly about Odin and his wife, but they weren't the priority at the moment. She decided to save them for later. "Wow. So, like, you're born with Magic, then? Is that why you're so good at it?"

Maren didn't actually _know_ if Loki was any good, only had his word (which seemed pretty skewed in his favor at any given point), so she decided to take it with a grain of salt. Still, he'd know more than just about anyone on Earth, and Maren was willing, perhaps even _desperate_ , to give him a chance.

"Magic is both a gift and a skill, but obviously the gifted are likely to be more powerful once they learn how to control it. Asgard has a library full with thousands of books and scrolls one could learn from. If only I had them here."

"Do you need them?" Maren asked, eyebrows rising in worry. She sincerely hoped this whole thing wouldn't be smothered young in the crib before it even had a chance to go somewhere.

"No, no," Loki shook his head, appearing only mildly concerned by this setback. "I've read them so much I might as well have them memorized. It's only a matter of understanding your power and where it came from."

"What do you mean? Do humans just not have Magic?" Maren said. She wouldn't be too surprised if this was the case, considering people's reactions whenever the topic of Magic came up. Disbelief, ridicule, laughter, and a few overzealous who told her to repent or lest her soul be damned. Maren had never met someone else like her. At least until she met Loki.

"It's...unusual, to say the least," Loki said, choosing his words carefully. He tapped his fingers together, concentrating on the table in front of them. "Humans don't have an affinity for Magic, but they _can_ learn. You, however, seem the be an exception. It's my personal theory that you may have inherited it from something else."

"Something?" The word left a cold lump in Maren's throat. "As in not human?"

"Yes."

"Whoa, okay, hold up," Maren suddenly got up, holding out her hands and jumping away from the table so she could face Loki directly. "Are you saying I'm not human? That I might be something like - like you?"

That kind of came out wrong, Maren had to admit. She really didn't know how to phrase it right. That's why when Loki threw her a scandalized look, she winced and bared her teeth in a weak grin, clutching her hands together and saying, "Sorry. I meant... I just meant something _greater_ than human?"

Loki gauged her for a moment, evaluating her words before he was mollified. He just tilted his head, smiling slightly as his green eyes slid from her to the TV, which was still going. He coughed slightly, "Of course. It's just a theory. It may be just as likely a trick of fate. There have been a few cases of those in Midgard's history. Plato, Nicholas Flamel, Queen Mary I..."

"I'm in the same company as Bloody Mary, awesome," Maren said, under her breath. S She was mildly surprised Loki seemed to know so much about human history. She had to be honest, he didn't seem to be the type to be very interested in it. Or maybe he just cared about the Magic parts. Still, even if she _was_ completely human, it didn't make her feel much better.

Loki seemed to sense this as well, casting a smirk in her direction. "But you've been living under the idea that you're different for a long time now, haven't you? Being less than completely human is something you've considered before."

"Well, yeah," Maren shifted awkwardly on her feet, planting her hands on her hips. Damn, if felt as though Loki could see right through her. "But I never knew what that could've been. I've never met anyone, a person that wasn't human. Until today."

"You're in luck, then, that I happened to arrive in this town when I did." He said with a smile, but it disappeared in another cough.

And Maren didn't have strong evidence that Loki wasn't human, that he wasn't just tricking her, but she was putting her faith into the idea, because she was an idiot and somehow the way Loki said things just made them sound so true, so genuine. Who the hell comes up with a back-story of being from Asgard, of being royalty and knowing Magic, wearing clothes made of materials she'd never seen before? How could he have known Magic would be an excellent topic to reel her in with if he didn't already know what it was? It just seemed to be far too much effort and risk for a lie, especially one as complex as this.

But above all, Maren _needed_ this to be real. She wanted it so desperately bad that she couldn't let herself conceive the possibility that this was some big joke.

It was like throwing all your money into the pot without looking at your cards, and hoping you'd get a royal flush. Luck like that just didn't happen. But when the opportunity arose, Maren was going to take it.

That didn't mean she had to like how smarmy Loki sounded. "I would've been just fine without you, thanks."

"You'd be constantly at odds with yourself," Loki countered, eyes flashing with a knowing he shouldn't have. Maren felt like an open book in front of him. Was she really that easy to read? "Never knowing who you truly are, _what_ you truly are. It's been gnawing at you for years, a constant doubt that drains you. If I never arrived, you would have succumbed to your own insecurities, spiraling into insanity, unable to find the answers because they can't be found in this realm. And yet when I offer to provide them, you act as though you never needed them."

"Okay, first of all," Maren raised one shaking, indignant finger. Just because Loki was right didn't mean he got to rub her face in it. "You haven't _provided_ me with anything. Once I actually start learning Magic, _then_ I'll be grateful. And secondly, I wouldn't go insane, okay? I'd probably repress a lot of feelings, sure, but I wouldn't go _crazy_. I'd probably go to a convent or something."

Loki raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I believe insanity is much more preferable than devoting your life to scripture and chastity."

"Yeah, somehow I'm not surprised." She said, which shut him up for a little bit.

That's when Loki started to cough.

The first time seemed like he was just clearing his throat. The second time, Maren wondered if maybe he ate something funny. She didn't think so - this macaroni was store brand, and so far she never had a problem with it. Maybe gods had a more delicate palate?

But the third time lasted so long, wracked Loki's body; it looked like it hurt.

"Uh oh," Maren appraised the behavior with a growing sense of resignation. "Looks like you got a cold."

"Gods don't -" Loki tried to say, but he was cut off by another fit of hacking. "- get colds."

"Sure sounds like a cold," Maren couldn't make the claim of understanding his biology, but she was pretty sure Loki was not in great health. He certainly didn't look like it, and that was before the coughing started. She realized she had absolutely no idea where he'd been before showing up at her apartment. Maybe she should've asked that earlier. "Where have you been since you left Asgard?"

"Well, I was left wandering the streets of this godforsaken town," Loki said with a sneer, clearly not enjoying the memory. Maren didn't disagree with him. "Then I was collected by your lovely police force, who were kind enough to keep me incarcerated for almost a day in one of their puny cells, with little to eat and nothing to do. After they released me, I headed to the Town Hall to meet this Mayor of yours, but instead I run into you. And then, of course, I followed you here."

"Of course," Maren repeated, pausing to go over this information in her head. So Loki had been here for less than two days. His police arrest didn't explain the lacerations around his wrists. "Well, the police station is a total germ hive, what with the regulars showing up every night." By this she meant the drug dealers, addicts, and prostitutes, people who often didn't have anywhere else to sleep and no way to maintain proper hygiene. It was no wonder Loki got sick there, on top of everything else. "I'm not surprised. I'm sure a Prince like you isn't exposed to a lot of diseases. Your immune system probably isn't in great shape."

"I assure you, I am perfectly health-" but Loki was once again interrupted by a series of coughing. It was so bad that he ended up keeling over, falling on his side with his face in one of the pillows. When the coughs finally subsided, Loki just heaved a long-suffering sigh, as if finally admitting defeat. He gazed at her through half-lidded, slightly venomous eyes, voice starting to sound raspy. "I would like to rest now."

"Yeah, you're gonna need it." Maren said, getting up and retrieving his bowl, careful not to get herself contaminated as well. There was no way she was getting sick, too. "I didn't have any questions left, anyways. The bathroom's over there if you need it and there's clean water in the tap. I'll get some extra blankets."

Maren wasn't sure why she was being so generous right now. Loki really hadn't done anything to deserve it, even if he did tell her more about Magic. Yet, she couldn't help but pity him, after a fashion. Lost, sick, and hurt, Loki needed help, even if he was too proud to admit it.

And he'd probably hate the fact she felt sorry for him, mortal as she was.

Man, this was weird.

She set the dirty dishware in the sink, turning off the TV and lights, except for one in the kitchen. She grabbed two blankets from the closet, which almost fell on her face because they were on the top shelf and she pulled too hard. Maren thought she heard a snicker behind her, but when she spun around, Loki was gazing out the window behind him, over the town below, all innocent and mellow.

 _Hmph_. Maren blew blonde strands out of her face before going over and tossing him the blankets. She didn't want to touch him again if she could help it.

"Good night," she decided to say as she retreated into her bedroom. It felt weird to just close the door without saying anything. Then she added as an afterthought, "And don't steal anything."

But he just chuckled, fingering the tartan blankets with his thin hands. "Not to worry. There is nothing here worth stealing."

Maren gave him the stink-eye before closing the door, perhaps a little harder than she meant to.

Turning around, she pressed her hands into her face and took a deep breath. Releasing it, Maren looked up at the ceiling, asking herself _God god, girl, what are you doing_ _to do with this man_? _Are you really letting him stay here?_

Unfortunately, the answer was yes. Maren had made her choice, and now she was going to deal with whatever became of it.

Resolute, Maren changed into pajamas and hopped into bed. But instead of curling under the covers and going to sleep, she pulled out her laptop from the desk, plopping herself in the center of the bed. It was dark in the room, and the only light came from the computer screen and the window to her right. It was completely dark out now, with only a faint tinge of yellow from the streetlights below. Rain pattered lightly against the glass, casting strange ripple patterns across the room. Unlike most towns and cities at night, it was absolutely silent in the streets of Lost and Longing.

Maren pulled up her internet browser, typing _LOKI_ into the search bar. What she got surprised her — mostly because it actually held up with what the real Loki said. Odin and Frigga, the ruling gods of the Norse Pantheon, residing in the otherworldly realm known as Asgard. There were other gods, too, including Loki, some with names she couldn't pronounce, others with a mythology so bizarre she hoped they weren't real. There was a lot of information to go through, and to be honest Maren got a little bored and started to skim.

As Maren stared at the too-bright screen, she couldn't help but rub her wrist. It was the same place where Loki had grabbed her, when they first ran into each other. There was another reason she believed his story and it wasn't because he looked weird or that parts of his story matched with the legends.

No. It was because no one had ever touched her like that. Never before had a single person ever elicited an automatic reaction from her Magic with their mere presence. It was like sparks catching on oil, spontaneous combustion. Perhaps Magic worked in the same way, crackling upon contact with another Magical being.

She remembered the feeling clearly, barely able to describe it. It was like she had been Tasered, a sharp jolt of electricity and fire through her veins. All the hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. A popping in her ears. But it wasn't painful like she thought it would be. Nor was it particularly pleasant, but for some reason Maren couldn't help but wish to feel it again.

It was like drinking alcohol for the first time; risky, a little nasty, but the effects were wonderful in a way that she felt all the way down to her core. Loki had brought out something in her that she didn't even realize was there.

The reason for it? Maren wasn't sure. Loki hadn't given an explicit answer and Maren forgot to ask. Well, she'd have to rectify that.

Before she knew it, Maren accidentally ended up on a Wiki walk and found herself on an article about astrophysics and something about an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, whatever that was. As much as she loved to learn more about it, Maren was tired, and a tired brain was not the best place to be to learn complex scientific theories.

It was getting late, and Maren didn't have much time to go sleuthing before she had to sleep. She needed at least eight hours, if not more, to feel well-rested, and that was on a weekend. Regular days were worse, because she hated waking up with the urgency of work.

And having to care for another human — er, god? Maren wasn't sure how she was going to deal with the extra responsibility.

But for now, sleep. That was the only way she was going to really absorb this information, and prepare herself for what was to come.


	6. Chapter 6

**I was thinking of making an art cover for this story, too, since its' the only one I haven't done yet. But I don't have any ideas. I guess you'll just have to live with my boring profile pic :/**

 **Also, some more dreams. That might be a theme in this story, dreams and their wonderful vagueness.**

* * *

Chapter Six

 _She hung weightless in the void._

 _Maren felt like she was spinning, but she could not see or hear anything that could explain why this was true. It was so dark, so black and endless that she didn't even know if her eyes were open or not. She couldn't feel her limbs or her hair or her heartbeat. Perhaps her body didn't even exist at all. Maybe she was just a collection of thoughts, scattered in this empty, empty space. Was there anything else here, or was she all alone, forever lost?_

 _Then, something appeared. A tiny disturbance in the black tapestry, like someone pushing in the tip of a knife from behind. It twinkled, like a star, flaring out and becoming something bigger, something warm. Maren's heart soared at the sight of it — something was here! She wasn't alone after all!_

 _But what was it? In this endless night there were no lights. It was as if she had been swallowed by a black hole. Maren watched this pinprick of light swirl into a disk, the size of the moon in the sky. But it was no moon. Whatever it was, it was something..._ Other _._

 _At first, it was just a distant circle but it gradually grew nearer and brighter. It became so powerful that it seemed to sear right into her soul. Terrible pain ripped through her mind, but she couldn't close her eyes, couldn't look away._

 _As it got closer, the sun took the shape of a man. A burning silhouette made of white light; it hovered before her like an angel — or perhaps a demon. She could not make out its face, if it even had one, because the enormity of light simply wiped any features away. It felt like she were looking upon the image of a god, whose appearance was so divine, so pure and beautiful that to see it fully would overwhelm her feeble mind, and it would be destroyed, to be scattered across this nameless hell._

 _But even though the being had no eyes, Maren sensed that it was looking at her. Through her. They were the only two beings existing in this realm, and they were entirely focused on one another._

 _It sent a bolt of fear through her. What was it? What did it want? Would it destroy her, hostile to anyone else invading its dark void, hating whatever its light touched? She did not belong here, that much was understood. How long would this creature, this being of inconceivable magnitude suffer her presence?_

 _Who are you, she wanted to ask._

 _The being did not answer right away. It continued to observe her, silent and stoic._

 _Then it spoke._ _ **DO NOT TRUST HIM.**_

 _There was no sound in the void. Rather, Maren_ felt _the being's words rather than heard them, and it was deep and warm, sinking into her very soul. It shook any thoughts from her mind, leaving her only stunned, her entire world focused on the spirit of Light — a seraph? — before her._

 _Who? She wanted to ask, but Maren had the feeling she already knew the answer._

 _ **THE TRICKSTER**_ **.** _The Seraph said, and for a second an image of a face flashed before her. It was quick, and she almost didn't register anything, but Maren saw that it was male, and caught the tracery of green. What was it?_

 _The Seraph continued, raising a hand in counsel._ _ **BEWARE THE FALSE GOD. BEWARE HIS SILVER TONGUE AND HONEYED LIES. HE WILL ONLY LEAD YOU ASTRAY.**_

 _And before Maren could even summon a thought, the Seraph exploded. Maren watched as the Seraph seemed to tear apart, almost in slow motion. A sudden rip in its chest that expanded vertically, rending the Seraph in two and releasing a mighty, terrible ball of fire. Maren could do nothing but let it engulf her, her black world turned white and her mind sent skittering across the universe like coins on a sidewalk._

 **~oOo~**

She woke with a start.

Eyes flying open, Maren launched forward in her bed, only to be ambushed by the sunlight streaming through the windows. She recoiled, hissing like vampire, bringing up her hands to shield her face.

Maren hit reality so hard that her head fell back on the pillow, a headache already forming. She pressed her palms against her head, fingers curling in her hair. _What the hell kind of dream was that?_

Wincing at the window she forgot to shade and the piercing shrill filling her room, Maren forced her head to face the clock on her nightstand. 7:12 AM.

Maren groaned, palming her hand over her eyes. Oh, good, not only did she have a nightmare, but now she wasn't going to get that extra sleep she needed to get over it. Fantastic.

Ugh, well, it was too late now.

As soon as Maren shucked her covers, she immediately reconsidered that decision. Cold air grabbed at her skin, finding vulnerability now that the safety of warm blankets gone. Maren rubbed her arms as she kicked her feet out and over the bed, meeting the equally cold floor. It was high time she spoke to Mr. Gregson, the landlord, about getting her heater fixed.

And yet, the chill was not quite strong enough to steal the sleep from her mind, and Maren yawned so wide that her jaw cracked. Reaching for her phone on the nightstand, Maren took a quick peek to see if she had any new messages.

Indeed, she had. In fact, a long scroll of messages, at least fifteen of them, and all from Dr. Breit.

She squinted, vision a little blurry. Wait, why was the Doc up at two in the morning last night? Didn't he go home? Maren could barely read the hasty and typo-filled texts — neither was she in the state to fully comprehend them.

"Ugh, whatever..." Setting the phone down, Maren decided to let it wait until she could actually read words again before trying to understand that. Getting up, Maren shuffled to her door, leaning on the knob as she wrenched it open and crossed into the main room.

So groggy was she that Maren didn't even register the strange man sleeping on her couch. Too busy thinking about the weird dream and work today, she had entirely forgot the events of the previous night. So, of course, when Maren walked out of the bathroom and finally saw the man, she nearly freaked out.

"What the f—!" Maren couldn't even get the curse out because her fear had locked the breath in her lungs.

 _Nearly_ freaked out, because by the time she stumbled back, catching the wall and opening her mouth to scream, Maren suddenly remembered what happened and stopped herself. Hand to her chest, she leaned against the wall and let out her held breath in a sigh of relief. God, she almost had a heart attack.

Maren hung her head, taking in deep breaths to calm the blood pounding in her ears.

Well, _that_ certainly woke her up.

 _Whew, false alarm_. Straightening, Maren pushed back her hair and shook herself over. Okay, so, that could've been a lot worse. At least Loki wasn't awake to see her reaction. He'd have a good laugh at that one, wouldn't he?

Pretending as though nothing ever happened, she went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Maybe something delicious had magically appeared overnight, and she wouldn't have to make anything today. But upon surveying her rather undersupplied shelves, Maren knew she was once again out of luck.

And she also had someone else to feed, too. Fantastic.

Ugh. Maren ran a hand through her hair, leaning against the kitchen counter. She didn't have time to make breakfast for herself and Loki. All she had was cereal and milk. And she couldn't make the extra effort to reintegrate Loki into modern society, either, if she wanted to get to work on time.

Well, she'd have to make do.

Grabbing two bowls and taking out the food, Maren shoveled food in her mouth as she scrambled about for a pen and a sticky pad. She started writing quick, short descriptions and stuck the notes on everything she could think of; the stove, the fridge, the microwave. When she was done, she also placed notes on the cereal box, bowl, and milk carton and placed them on the coffee table. Loki still hadn't woken, and Maren didn't make any attempt to wake him up.

She went back to her room and threw on a hastily-collected outfit; just a plaid shirt and some jeans. Maren's work mostly consisted of hardware and maintenance, so she couldn't really afford to dress nice unless she wanted to buy new clothes every week because the old ones had grease stains and holes all through them.

Leaving her room, Maren did a double take and remembered to lock her bedroom door before grabbing her bag and coat. Then, as a second thought, she stuck one last note to Loki's forehead before dashing out the door.

Maren barely managed to catch her bus before it sped past. Out of breath, Maren just gave the driver a wry look before handing over her cash — she was not facing any heat for making him late on his timetable. Maren took her usual seat between the old woman that smelled like week-old banana bread and nicotine, and a man that read the newspaper and made weird snorting sounds as though he kept swallowing his spit.

Still, she got to work on time.

She made the brisk walk between the bus stop to the front doors of Bohr Labs - a large facility on the edge of town, bright white and imposing with no windows and filled with strange whirring and clanking sounds. Maren had been working here ever since she graduated from Penn State — and Bohr Labs contained the only people she could actually call friends within Lost and Longing.

Chloe, her black hair perfectly coiffed and make-up on point (even though it was only eight in the morning), was waiting for her inside. "Hey, girl. How'd yesterday's hearing go?"

"Not well," Maren said, undoing her scarf. It was easy to say this, even though the defeat still left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"This is, what, you're sixth time trying?" Chloe asked, frowning in sympathy. She was dressed much better than me, in bright colors that complimented her dark skin, and had a smile that could dazzle even the coldest of hearts. Whenever Chloe was in the room, all eyes turned.

But Maren wasn't jealous, not really. She was just glad Chloe had her back. She rested a hand on my shoulder, gave Maren a sad smile. "Sorry, baby. Maybe Faust will do it next time."

"Yeah, I doubt it." Maren said under her breath. Finally getting her coat off, she deposited the winterwear in the closet before asking, "Anything new in the lab? I had a bunch of texts this morning — I hope Dr. Breit didn't pull another all-nighter again."

"Oh, you know him," was Chloe's reply from behind, a heavy sigh. "Cares more about the project than his own self."

Of course. Dr. Breit was a professional to the last. Of course, that didn't stop his employees from getting worried sometimes. Maren wouldn't be surprised if it killed him. "...Have you spoken to him yet?"

When Maren turned around, Chloe eyebrows were high on her head. She squinted slightly. "You mean Silas?"

"Yes, I mean Silas." Maren said with a sigh, walking with Chloe down the hall. To their right was a staircase that led to the control center. "He's been leaving messages on my phone. I don't think he's getting the hint."

"Maybe you should write him a strongly-worded letter," Chloe said, giving Maren a mischievous grin. But it was only half-hearted, and she shrugged helplessly. "I haven't seen from him lately, though, so he could've finally figured it out."

Maren wasn't so hopeful. "Yeah, sure."

They climbed up the steep stairs, footsteps clanging in the vast hall. Bohr Labs was state-of-the-art, thanks to Dr. Breit's wealthy and prestige, along with Faust's backing.

"So, aside from all the shenanigans," Chloe said, voice perky in her attempt to change the subject. "Anything new happen?"

"Uh, well," Maren deliberated telling her the truth. Chloe's intention was successful. Unfortunately, this was yet another subject Maren didn't want to talk about. "No. No, not really."

"Oh, well —" Chloe started to say, pressing her hand against the scan-pad. It blinked once before the door to their right slid open. She didn't get a chance to finish before Dr. Breit appeared. He came out so quickly that the two girls jumped back, surprised.

"Girls," There was a huge smile on his face as he looked up at them from his wheelchair. "Something amazing happened."

"What?" Chloe and Maren asked at the same time, exchanging looks of bewilderment before following Dr. Breit into the control room.

He was going so fast on his wheels that the two girls almost had to jog to keep up with him. Dr. Breit spoke fast, almost tripping over his owns words as he said, "It was the storm last night — I can't believe it, but somehow the weather — all that wind and lightning — it nearly took out the power! I was afraid I'd be stuck here until someone remembered I was gone. It's lucky I stayed, though, otherwise I would've missed it."

Maren was used to tailing her boss as he lectured — in this case, rambled — and traversed across the lab at the same time. Dr. Breit had been in a wheelchair for as long as Maren had known him, but it never slowed him down. Middle-aged, the man was quite handsome, with a full head of brown hair and thick-rimmed 'nerd' glasses that fit him well. He dressed in contemporary clothes, even jeans and sneakers, that somehow didn't look like he was trying too hard. Maren imagined that Dr. Breit would have been one of the town's (if not the nation's) top bachelors, alongside the types of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, if only he didn't work so hard.

But that was probably the point. As Dr. Breit one said to her, "I'm married to the job, I guess. Personal relationships don't interest me in the same way science does."

That didn't stop Chloe from trying to get him to date though.

"Missed what?" Maren asked, looking out the observation glass to the machine below. A tower of metal, disks, tubes, and an intricate interworking of wires and batteries inside. The tower extended upwards, through the roof, and into the sky, a diamond needle that pierced the heavens.

The Tower collected energy stored in clouds — the many particles bouncing around in there, charged and ready to go. It also attracted lightning strikes, especially during storms, which gave the Tower _huge_ amounts of power. That was its main selling point for Mayor Faust. The Tower not only collected the energy, but converted it into usable energy for Lost and Longing to live on. Because of it, the entire town was completely self-sufficient, and entirely off the grid government or commercial influence. Just the way Mayor Faust liked it.

Not many other places had something like this, except maybe the ones that utilized Stark Industries and their famous arc reactor technology. Clean, recyclable energy — the science of the future, as Dr. Breit always said. It was one reason why Maren was proud to work for him. It was her job to make sure the whole thing functioned properly.

She looked back at Dr. Breit. He gave her a big grin, the spark of the mad scientist in his eye. "The miracle, Maren. The _miracle_."

"What Doc _means_ is the little fluke," said Danny, walking in from the side room with tablet in hand. He didn't look nearly as excited as Dr. Breit, only seemed disapproving. "Pure serendipity. Nothing _actually_ happened. At least nothing meaningful."

"I don't pay you to undermine my work, Mr. Athenas," Dr. Breit called over his shoulder, looking slightly peeved. "Allow me to actually explain what happened before we decide what it means, okay?"

"Fine," Danny said, rolling his eyes. With deeply tanned skin and the sharpest dressed here with pressed shirts, bowties, and wingtip oxfords, you wouldn't know that he actually spent most of his time in a dark lab. He looked like he belonged in a CEO's office or in a fancy museum, not slumming it all the way out here. "But I still think it's just a fluke."

Dr. Breit ignored him, switching his attention back to Maren and Chloe. "It's what every scientist dreams of. The Black Swan theory, an unprecedented event that may revolutionize science — and the world — as we know it."

"A Black Swan Event?"Chloe said, sounding doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. You see, when the storm hit, the Tower started collecting data as it should — but something was off. It was taking in more information than a regular thunderstorm should be emitting. At first I thought it was a problem with the fluctuators, until I looked at the input levels: Look here," he rolled over to the printer, which had spewed a long sheet of graphs, jumping lines indicating the number of particles received thanks to the lightning.

He scrolled his finger along, pointing out the spots of hectic activity. "This is completely unprecedented. There wasn't any misreading — the Tower actually absorbed a completely _new type of energy_ — one that doesn't exist on Earth!"

"Uh," Maren did a double-take, then peered closer at the graph. There was a part where it had gone completely blank, and her first thought was that the printer had lost ink. But then she realized, no, the needle had gone too high to read — and never came back down. "Is that even possible? Maybe it just picked up on a solar flare."

"Yeah, right," Chloe rolled her eyes.

"See, I thought of that, too," Dr. Breit said, pointing a finger at Maren and wheeling away again.

Chloe just threw up her arms, disbelieving. "You've got to be kidding me."

"I've been keeping track of those, since they tend to warp our data collecting," Dr. Breit said, flicking a hand at Danny, who promptly accessed one of the computers so it showed the correct data by the time Dr. Breit reached it. "But we haven't had any predictions, so I knew that couldn't be it. Something happened in that storm last night, something that has never been on Earth before...or, maybe it has, but there just wasn't anyone or anything to keep track of it before."

"So this mystery energy, what are you gonna call it?" Chloe asked after peering at the solar-flare-forecast and leaning back, still looking somewhat unconvinced.

"I suggested Sol Particles," Danny said, looking mighty proud of himself for coming up with something so clever. "After the Latin name for the Sun. Since this is obviously because of solar activity."

"Let's agree to disagree, all right?" Dr. Breit cast a side glance at Danny, a half-smile on his face. Dr. Breit was never a man to make grand arguments; he usually found a way to compromise, or at least find something to shut Danny up with. "Maren, I need you to go out to the tower and access the databanks. I want a closer look of what we're dealing with here."

"Our mysterious Black Swan Event, ooh!" Chloe waved her arms about sarcastically, getting the others to laugh a little at Dr. Breit's expense. Even he offered a smile, not afraid of a little self-deprecating humor. "Meanwhile, _I'll_ go make sure we didn't blow a fuse, thanks to Einstein's little discovery here."

It was Chloe's job to reroute the power to all the major points within Lost and Longing. It had a lot to do with coding and passwords and flicking switches bigger than her head. Whenever there was a power outage, Chloe was on the clock to get everything back on running order before things turned into pandemonium.

"I'll get on it," Maren replied, starting for the side door on the right, down a long, thin hallway that slanted downwards. At the bottom was a waiting room of sorts, with hooks on the walls, bearing helmets and jumpsuits. Maren grabbed the only one that fit her, kicking off her shoes and slipping into the work gear.

Maren had a Master's in Electrical Engineering — specifically working in the field of power engineering, or the type of science that deals with power collection, conversion, distribution, etc. Her specific role within Bohr Labs was to maintain the Tower; she was the only one qualified to actually work on it, replace parts, and check the computer located at the base of the Tower, which could only be reached via catwalk.

Typically, physically accessing the Tower wasn't very dangerous. Sure, Maren had to wear an ugly blue jumpsuit, a hardhat, and rubber boots and gloves, but that was just regular safety procedure. Her job was only risky during inclement weather and when something bad happened with the mechanics. Dr. Breit had forbidden anyone from going out to the Tower when it was raining or snowing — it was far too likely that the lightning might hit _them_ instead of its intended target, or the bad weather might lead to an accident, such as slipping or falling. There were so few workers here that Dr. Breit couldn't afford anyone to get hurt and take leave.

Luckily, it's never happened at the same time, but Maren knew that there was certainly a possibility of it happening. If the Tower malfunctioned or broke down during a bad storm, the city would lose all its power, and Bohr Labs itself might be in danger of exploding. Considering all the power this place contained, there was a level of responsibility to make sure everything was running on all cylinders.

The most common threats to the safety and function of the Tower was flooding, rust, and fried circuitry. The base of the Tower was essentially a giant mound; any water that reached the bottom would be drained through gutters and dumped into the water filtration system to be recycled and carried to the town's reservoir. These gutters had a tendency to get clogged by leaves and other debris, and it was Maren's job to clean them out every week or so. The rust was merely a side effect, and she also had to watch out for it; clean it if she could, or replace the parts too damaged to work anymore.

The fried circuitry was just part of the job. What _wouldn't_ get overloaded when millions of volts of electricity struck the needle every day? If something wasn't working or their computers were getting wacky readings, it was up to Maren to get to the control panel and see what was wrong and how to locate it. The Tower was surrounded by a maze of catwalks that allowed Maren to access different parts of it, along with the hatches that allowed her to work inside the machine, fixing and replacing parts as need be.

It was no glamorous job, but she was proud of her work. This facility wouldn't be able to run without her. Well, it wouldn't be able to run without _any_ of them, but still.

The last thing Maren put on was a radio set that Dr. Breit communicated through, usually to keep her safe from any incoming disaster. The day was nice, with no wind, so Maren didn't expect anything serious would happen.

As she stepped out the heavy metal door that required someone in the control room to unlock, Maren considered her current situation. If this strange energy was as amazing as Dr. Breit said it was, then this could be her big break. They could be...they could be _famous._ Their research would be published in national science papers. People would be dying to know how some funky power plant managed to discover a completely new element.

They'd have to change the periodic table — offhand, Maren wondered who they would name it after. Probably after Dr. Breit, since this was his crazy idea in the first place. He was the one who witnessed the Black Swan Event. This was his to claim.

It got Maren thinking. Loki was her Black Swan Event. There was no possible way she could have predicted his arrival, and his effect on her life so far had turned it upside down (but handling it pretty well, in Maren's opinion). And there was no way she could somehow retroactively rationalize Loki's appearance; this wasn't like getting hurt in a car crash because you forgot to put your seatbelt on, or getting an unexpected job offer before remembering you posted your work online. _This_ , this was like winning the lottery, only you never entered in the first place.

Loki was an anomaly. A miracle, even.

It occurred to Maren as she reached the computer at the end of the catwalk that these two incidents may not be mutually exclusive.

The fact that Loki appeared the same night Dr. Breit made a discovery seemed too much like a coincidence. That, and the fact that Loki hadn't really specified _how_ he got into Lost and Longing, let alone Earth itself. Did it have something to do with that Bifrost thing she read about? Could passage create massive storms like that? Or perhaps it generated a type of energy not normally seen — that is, Magic — which was why the Tower went completely berserk.

Which begged the question: did Dr. Breit actually build a machine that could detect and store _Magic_?

And he didn't have a clue.

" _Earth to Maren?_ " The radio jolted Maren out of her reverie. " _Is everything all right down there_?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine," Maren shook her head, clearing it. "Just, uh, thinking to myself."

" _You're not getting distracted, are you_?" Dr. Breit asked, his voice scratchy from the transmission. " _A careless scientist is a dead scientist, Maren_."

"Yeah, I know," she sighed, trying not to sound too frustrated. That was what he always said whenever someone wasn't paying attention to what they were doing. Maren couldn't necessarily blame him, either, though — she imagined Dr. Breit didn't want anyone else to end up like him. "Just..."

Maren should've kept her mouth shut, because Dr. Breit must've heard the uncertainty in her voice. " _Did something happen yesterday, Maren_?"

"N-no," she replied, wincing at her own stuttering. Wow, that didn't sound convincing _at all_. Now everyone was going to ask what was going on. "Nothing happened, Dr. Breit. Nothing at all."

Luckily, he completely misinterpreted that. " _Chloe told me what happened at Faust's. I'm sorry, Maren_."

"I shouldn't have expected anything different," was Maren's curt reply. This was not the time to be discussing this — especially not with her boss. Due to their small workforce, everyone knew everyone. They were the closest Maren had to family around here, more friends than coworkers, although she always tried to maintain some professional distance with Dr. Breit.

But even he couldn't seem to resist a bit of fatherly advice every now and then. To prevent such a thing from happening, Maren said, "Maybe we should just stick to the task at hand. Clumsy scientist make dead scientists, right?"

" _All right, all right_ ," she heard him chuckle through the radio static. " _You win this time. But you know, if you ever need me to talk to Faust, I can —"_

"No!" Maren said almost immediately, pausing in her typing to speak directly into the radio. "Please. I'll be fine. I can take care of myself. Just...don't do anything, okay?"

" _Whatever you say, then._ " Dr. Breit relented, although Maren thought she heard a hint of frustration in his voice. Did he really want to face Mayor Faust?

The very thought terrified her. While Dr. Breit was the only man Faust respected in any sense of the word, there was no doubt in her mind that Faust would eliminate Dr. Breit if the man ever so much as presented himself as a mild inconvenience to his plans. And Maren didn't want to lose anyone because of her own stupidity. She didn't want Dr. Breit to put himself on the line for her, no matter the level of good intentions.

She was grateful, though, for the offer. If only Faust wasn't such a total nutcase, Maren might've actually taken Dr. Breit up on it.

As Maren started loading the data on a USB device, she heard a new voice speak through the radio. It was Chloe, sounding worried: " _Uh, Maren, there's something you should know_..."

"Chloe? You're not supposed to have access —" Maren started, but was cut off when Chloe finished her sentence.

" _Silas is here_."

Maren groaned, canting her head back to look up at the blue sky.

God dammit.

* * *

 **A/N: The science behind the Tower is somewhat fantastical and I'm pretty sure unrealistic — but this is fanfic and I'm not too pressed to throw in hardcore scientific research and knowledge into this. I tried to base it on real science though, so it at least sounds** _ **believable**_ **, if not barely possible. I tried really hard to not make it sound stupid, though, so tell me what you think :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Had writer's block because I didn't know what an electrical engineer could do. Probably should've done some more research earlier. And then I edited it so it won't be cuntil the next chapter :P**

 **And thank you for all the reviews! I'm trying to be better at updating, but unfortunately some of my fics are getting the short stick.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Seven

Loki woke up to something sticking to his face.

It blocked his vision, this pale yellow _thing_. Blinking groggily, Loki shifted upwards, brushing it off his face before finding out it was paper. Confused, he peeled it off, wincing slightly. He still had a headache from the previous night; the cold hadn't gone away like he'd hoped.

On the paper, written in a tin scrawl, were the words: _Out at work - Back 5_

He found a second note on the back of his night hand, also with a message: _And don't go_ _ANYWHERE_ _!_

Loki frowned, then noticed the coffee table also had notes on it - and food. A jug of what looked like milk; a tall, thin box of "Honey Oats" whatever that was (was she giving him _horse food_?); along with a bowl and spoon.

There were notes everywhere, now that he took a second to look. On the cupboards, on the doors, all in his line of sight. Bright sunlight filtered in through the window above the couch, casting everything in a pale, almost blinding glow. It hurt his eyes just to look out and Loki palmed a hand over his face, fighting back the wave of nausea that came over him.

By the stars, that fall had done a number on him.

The note on the bowl informed Loki this was supposed to be his breakfast. He wrinkled his nose in distaste - what sort of meal was this supposed to be? Was this supposed to feed an Asgardian? It would barely feed a child.

But being as there was no one to complain to, Loki didn't have much of a choice. He certainly wasn't going to make anything himself. At least the girl provided him with sustenance, guidance.

At least she didn't forget him.

There was a bitter taste on Loki's tongue, and he grabbed the bowl, dragging it closer. The Ramsey girl had left notes on the box and milk as well - which to pour first (Honey Oats), and which to put back in the fridge when he was done (the milk).

Inspecting the box, Loki stared at the smiling bee character brandishing its honey stick at him. It had large eyes and a large mouth, and even had a shirt, and for some reason Loki kind of liked it. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of a bee wearing clothes, but it almost made him smile. Then Loki opened the top and tipped it over the bowl - only to have its contents cascade out in an avalanche that surprised him.

Loki winced and ripped the box away, but it was already too late. He'd made a mess and now he'd have to clean it up. "You've betrayed me, Honey Oats."

He managed a way to eat anyways. The milk jug had been easier to predict, and he didn't make a total wash of filling the bowl.

Then he ate.

The food - which he later learned from the writing on the box was called _cereal_ \- wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be. It wasn't actually made of oats - at least not the kind as he knew it, the kind you feed to horses. It also tasted better, something he could positively confirm thanks to a little dare he and Thor had as children that resulted in them nearly getting kicked by Odin's prized stallion.

The oats tasted like honey, and the milk made it easier to wash it down.

Loki found that he couldn't eat that much anyways - the sickness prevented him from swallowing down too much without risk of it coming back up again. Frustrated with himself and his confusing hunger/nausea situation, Loki eventually set down the bowl and lied back down on the couch.

Then he got back up, because Loki felt unclean. His robes were covered in dirt, the plates of armor tarnished. Bones aching, he pulled himself off the couch, joints creaking and cracking - he never heard his body make this much sound before. Was this what it was like to be mortal? To feel so fragile and tired all the time?

The kitchen had a sink, with faucets he could understand without the 'helpful' notes attached. The water ran cold, even though the hot faucet was on...and it only got colder.

It didn't really register to Loki, however, and washing his face didn't quite bring the shock to his system that he wanted. Instead, he started coughing again, which only made Loki growl under his breath. Foul sickness! Why must he continue to suffer for another day? One short visit to the healers in Asgard, and Loki would be right as rain.

He loathed Midgard.

His anger was short-lived, however, overtaken by the draining sickness. Exhaustion hung over Loki like a wet blanket, and Loki just couldn't shake the feeling off, even after pacing for fifteen minutes trying to figure out a way back to Asgard. The way the Ramsey girl had spoken, it sounded as though just leaving this _town_ would be difficult, never mind the realm itself.

Loki would've gone off and left already if he could, but he had a terrible headache and the sunlight was proving to be disagreeable to his health. He cared not for the girl's warnings, whatever vague fear she had of him being discovered. Why _shouldn't_ the people in this town know of his existence? When Thor had been dropped into the hamlet of Puente Antiguo, he had made his presence well known to the mortals there — some of whom willingly _helped_ him return home!

Why couldn't Loki find that kind of help here? Why didn't anyone believe who he said he was? Why didn't Thor have this kind of problem?

He attempted to turn on the _television_ , a primitive form of magic these humans managed to conjure up in their spare time between their worship of the Norns and present day. The thing made a tremendous screeching noise, its screen going white when Loki turned it on, and it wasn't until he hit it with his fist did it finally obey his command and switch to what appeared to be a comedic stage play.

Despite the annoying laughter from an invisible audience that kept playing every few minutes, Loki was intrigued by the premise. Six friends all living together in apartments next to one another — heaping their problems onto one another with heedless abandon, all the while exploiting each other's bizarre little quirks and shared secrets.

It rather amused him, to see humans so carelessly hurt their allies, yet so easily forgive in the end. Was that what it was like to be a mortal? To live so short a life you couldn't maintain a healthy vengeance towards those who have wronged you? What a pitiful existence.

A few of the gags were actually funny, but Loki refused to laugh, even though he knew he was alone. Why risk the chance of ruining his dignity? Asgardian comedy was far more highbrow than this Earth garbage — other nobles would turn up their noses at this fare, and Loki wanted to think that, if any of them were watching him at this moment, that they wouldn't think he had lost his fine tastes so easily.

It was all for naught, really. Eventually, holding back his laughter accidentally triggered a coughing fit, and Loki couldn't stand to watch anymore. His head felt heavy, and the only remedy seemed to be more rest.

Leaving the TV on silent (lucky press of the button, as it turned out), Loki fell back against the couch, sucking in a deep breath and holding back another cough that threatened to rattle his bones. But the pressure increased, and he possibly only made it worse, as the hacking on scraped his throat and made his eyes water.

He slumped back into the couch, head falling to the pillow, only to wince because the sun was in his eyes. Loki wished it to be night again. He wished it to be dark and quiet and isolated. Loki could hear the birds singing outside, and it was all he could do not to open the window and knock them out of the trees.

...Except he couldn't anyways, because he had no Magic.

Loki covered his face with his hands and groaned.

This was going to be a long day.


End file.
